Vanko & Pym, Inc BOOK ONE
by Hanks-a-lot
Summary: Hank Pym,Jan Van Dyne,Spider-Man, Magneto, Cap, Thor, Iron Man, Goblin, Egghead and a number of 1960s Marvel Charaters. Hank weeds through his personal life and public persona to get a real vision of what he wants and manage a constructive life. His sis, Erica and an evolving new hero/lab assistant Yolanda help him find his way and beat back a truck load of enemies.
1. Intro & Chapter 1: The Past Remembered

Vanko And Pym, Inc. Book One

By Hanks-a-lot

INTRO—Here, perhaps the least appreciated Avenger of the early '60s, Hank Pym, is spotlighted. As he was in the early years, gentleman Hank is brilliant and proactive in the field of science, but a bit slow in the human relations field. Be assured that I will not depict him as the ultimate hero of the universe just because his name is Henry. I am not going the Bruce Timm route where Bruce—Batman— Wayne is the savior of an incompetent Justice League. Heroes are heroes because they can solve their own problems. The Wasp's character is the totality of Jan Van Dyne of that era and of the last years of the 2000s. She's spontaneous, spunky, territorial, combative, heroic, flirtations and, at times, slutty.

There was a need to tweak many things from the 1960s. Firstly, there is no Giant-Man Fan Club visiting his home. If people knew his identity, having a mask would be pretty silly. Not to mention, if these teens had something of a friendly relationship with Hank, their lives would be in mortal danger from revenge-seeking vermin. Nor will there be large rings outside of his penthouse with retractable cables anchored to the corner of his building. If he used them to descend safely onto the street a couple of times there would be a mob stake-out in those locations waiting for him. His travels will be mysterious to the public. And forget about being shot out of a pen sized cannon and then have his flight stopped by a mountain of assembled ants at a pre-selected area—GOOD GREIF! The reader will also see that the time of Hank's widowhood was slightly altered.

As hard as it is to follow a serialized novella, I ask for your attention because there will be four recruitment efforts underway. Three different villainous teams will look to increase their membership. The fourth—Blackie Gaxton's mob- will look to engage the services of an evil genius.

Those familiar with Marvel's 1960s circulation will recognize the parade of characters here. Some, like Yolanda Vanko and Henry's sister, Erica, are original and will be so noted. Otherwise, all characters depicted in this fan fiction belong to Marvel Comics. As wisdom allows, these characters will be presented in their original persona and circumstances. This story also carries isolated adventure-pockets that are based on actual events that happened in the early '60s.

BE WARNED: If your mindset is comfortably nestled in Political Correctness, stop here and forget the existence of this story. You'll be offended. For example, the term, "Negro," was a term of respect given to an African American in the '60s. Other terms that would send the shallow into fits are the prefixes "Miss" or "Mrs. No, it doesn't mean that the speaker thinks women should be enslaved and be let out only for reproduction activities. They were also terms to show one's esteem to the particular female who was being addressed.

A maturity that brings one beyond PC is required. If you jump up and down and stain your underwear insisting that you see offensive references where there are none, this isn't for you. I don't mean that in a mean-spirited manner— it's just a fact.

The first chapter will read like a newspaper for the benefit of those unfamiliar with Hank Pym and then we take off. This story opens two weeks after Avengers# 7 and 24 hours after Journey into Mystery #108, and days before Tales to Astonish #56. It opens around the beginning of Spiderman #15.

And so let us begin Vanko and Pym, Inc.: Book One. . Please buckle up—I hope you enjoy the ride.

* * *

Chapter One: The Past Remembered

It was 1964 and the southern portion of the United States was shaken by a splinter terrorist group that seceded from the Ku Klux Klan. As amazing as the public found it, the Klan seemed too docile in the minds of these disgruntled members. Their only option was to form _**The Sons of The Serpent**_.

Their furious activities, their ability to elude law enforcements brought almost as much jaw dropping incredulity as their claim that they were led by the Confederate Army's sharp-witted battlefield tactician, General Lee. The General, they insist, had faked his death in October of 1870. He staved off the aging effects of a nearly a century and now leads the Sons of the Serpent in a new campaign of racial purification. _This time the South will win,_ was their controversial chant.

Thousands of miles to the north, big city residents dismissed the group as whacko fanatics who would soon be crushed under their own superstition and ignorance. But the S.O.T.S. have been operating and growing for a year now. Why have the majority of northerners dismissed the group with only a shake of the head?

Perhaps it was because they were so far away. Rising taxes and the increasing crime were so much closer— hence, more real. Add to those concerns the failure of the Stamford-based Osborn Industries' cosmetic arm that left large numbers of Connecticut and New York workers unemployed, and one could almost smell the anxiety in the air.

But it wasn't all dark expectations and fears. In New York City, burdened by their own depressing thoughts, the folks sought the relief in the opening of The World's Fair. The excitement of the Fair took a back seat to nothing… except for the steady stream of superheroes who took their battles against villainous Mega-beings to the streets.

One group of these champions resided in a block-long mansion by Manhattan's famed Central Park. Stretching along East 70th Street towards Fifth Avenue, the mansion, had gardens and fountains. It was surrounded by thick, 12-feet high walls, National Guardsmen and innumerable electronic defensive devises that were not visible.

All this gave evidence that the luxurious residence was gifted by Billionaire Anthony Stark to a collection of individuals who were reputed to be "The World's Mightiest Heroes"…. The Avengers.

At 5:22 PM, Sunday June 21, an athletic six foot, one inch figure walked the mansion's red carpeted second floor hallway. He aimed his stride towards the window to on check the weather. Most of the day, windy downpours were playing peek-a-boo with the city residents.

Before he noted the conditions, he had to smile at his reflection in the glass. If he wasn't the hero called Giant-Man, Dr. Henry Pym wouldn't even wear his predominately red costume and mask in Halloween, much less in today's June.

This morning, he and his lovely partner, Janet Van Dyne— "the Wasp"— had arrived at the extravagant abode to pick up the small blueprint that the brilliant industrialist, Tony Stark had designed. It was a special gun and "bullet shell" to carry Henry's revolutionary solvent. Henry claimed that it could be placed in a special shell casing, be fired at a target, and upon contact, instantly eat through any fabric and electronic circuitry. Since Hank and Jan were in the mansion, they decided to stay longer and enjoy its luxurious benefits.

While the spa attendants pampered the female half of the heroic duo, Henry Pym exhausted himself in the weight training room, re-invigorated himself in a hand-to-hand combat lesson with a certain star-spangled partner, played chess with a computer (while watching the Phillies' Jim Bunning no-hit the Mets between rainy downpours) and swam a few laps in the under-the-mansion pool.

Now, nearly six hours after his entry into the mansion, Henry knew what to expect if he tarried longer. The butler, Edwin Jarvis, would invite Jan and Henry to stay for the night. Jarvis liked the couple and he had a way of asking that brought about a feeling of guilt to anyone who would say "no." Henry hated to disappoint so likable an old fellow like Edwin, but he would never stay until the next morning. Unlike his attractive female partner, Hank could not adjust to sleeping anywhere but his own bed.

According to the mansion's weather radar, there would be a mere 20 minute respite from the hard summer rains. That was enough time to make their trek back home in insect size and not worry about Mother Nature. They could fly over the East River, Welfare Island (located in the middle of the river), and arrive at their new penthouse domain in Long Island City. It wasn't really a "city." It was a defined territory in New York City's borough of Queens. The rising rent in Manhattan was one major reason that the size-changing biochemist was forced out into the neighboring location. But as it so happened, at the beginning of the break, Henry's beloved Jan had decided to go to the bathroom.

The flying ants that he would summon to himself could make it across the river. Even with a 1/6th-inch Avenger mounted on their backs, the trek offered no hint of impossibility. But the trip wasn't without hazard if they missed their window of opportunity and meet up with pelting rain and strong winds. Jan would fare better if she shrank down to only four inches. The artificial wings that Hank grafted onto her back were stronger than those belonging to any insect. And at twenty-four times the size that Hank was required to shrink in order to ride the insect, she could take the pounding water drops better than he and the ant.

Henry looked out into the cloudy day. The smaller, delicate branches of the surrounding trees were still. Good, that meant that there was no breeze to speak of. Still, Jan should really speed it up in there.

The wait brought in quietness. The silence streamed his mind away from the annoyance over Jan's bad timing and into replaying the last four years of his life. They had seemed to pass in break-neck speed. And four strong women were in the center of it all.

Maria… Being the youngest college professor in Princeton University's history, Henry was 22 when he met the Hungarian dissident, Maria Trovaya. The cream hair-colored beauty was a Princeton student boarding a bus headed for New York City. Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev was scheduled to address the United Nation General Assembly concerning the independence of the new Republic of Congo. Maria and thirty other students with families living inside of the Soviet satellite countries were going to march outside of the U. N. The sign that she carried into the bus read, _Free your own people before giving advice to a LIBERATED sovereign nation._ The sign was half her size and he had chuckled wondering how long her slim arms could hold it over her head.

After five minutes of conversation, Professor Pym was so moved by Maria's fiery spirit that he promised to meet her there at the protest. After his last class, he borrowed a fellow teacher's car and raced to New York City. Professor Pym later offered her a ride back to her dorm. Maria stayed behind while the other students made their way to the Port Authority Bus Terminal.

They discovered that they had so many shared interests and credos. This included being two of the very few on university campus who were brave enough to say that they believed in a God. What followed was a whirlwind romance. Months later, they married— in hindsight, the wedding probably came too soon for the loving couple. But at the time, the union couldn't have come quick enough. For their honeymoon, Maria wished to visit her family. It was easy enough; fly to France and from there to Hungry.

Married to an American gave her U.S. citizenship. Certainly the communists who gripped the throats of her countrymen would not dare touch her. Unfortunately, both husband and bride were blinded by overconfidence. In hush whispers she strategized with her parents and her fifteen-year-old brother as to how they could sneak past the borders. In a bolder voice, Maria expressed her opposition to the government before close neighbors. She thought that her audience was strictly family members and friends in those various pre-dinner home meetings. But when the couple was about to return to America, Hungarian agents were waiting for the newlyweds at the airport.

After that, all that the young husband could remember was waking up in the Health Unit of France's Orly International Airport without Maria. Mysteriously, there was no record of Maria and Henry boarding a plan beyond France eight days ago. The Soviet airliner, Areoflot, insisted that the couple were not on their passenger boarding records.

In France, Henry went crazy trying to get the American Consulate to launch an investigation. All that he could squeeze from them was a U.S. letter of protest. Even his attempts to contact Maria's parents and brother were met with replies of "no such resident at this address."

Days later, an unidentified male phoned him at the Consulate. Though the caller denied any link to either government, the man had enough information on Hank and Maria to be taken as a credible informer. He told the heartbroken husband that the outspoken Maria was forever silenced. Her remains were incinerated at a garbage dump like worthless trash.

Between breath-stealing sobs, young Dr. Pym could make out the man saying that the Hungarians were currently brokering an exchange of captured US and Soviet spies. The agents from both sides were too valuable to their respective operations and the men needed to return to their governments rapidly.

"No one can afford for their apple carts to be turned over," the caller warned. Henry was to expect nothing from his government and only repeated denials from the Hungarians about his dearly beloved. At most, she would be declared a missing person in France, but that was all. If Henry persisted, he would be tried and, for political expediency, be convicted for her murder since he was the last one to have been seen with her.

He returned to Princeton a defeated and broken man— he was bereaved of his dear wife and he was betrayed by his county. Even all the past sermons that he remembered from his Christian upbringing sounded no more encouraging and coherent than the leaves rustling in the wind.

If it wasn't for the constant care of his older sister, Henry would have made good on his intention to end his own life. After five weeks of debilitating depression, one of his frequent drunken tirades produced a key to escape from his mental prison. He woke up, as he had many times before, in a room that evidenced the rampage of the night before. But this time, in his hand was a small tape recorder. He had wondered why he had not thought to look inside of the night stand on Maria's side of their bedroom long ago. If he had, he would have heard her sweet voice sooner.

The recording revealed that she suspected that she wouldn't return with her beloved husband. The message from the angel-toned beauty was clear: Go on. Live on. Remember her, but do not dishonor her name by refusing to live a constructive life. A religious woman who refused to be told by any establishment what not to believe, Maria quoted a few parting verses: "Let not your heart be troubled…" " I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end." "... can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I NOT forget thee."

If it wasn't for Maria's voice, the words would have run insignificantly past him like sand between open fingers. But there was one haunting Scripture that branded itself in his mind: "Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise:" Perhaps one might say that at the time he heard those motivating words, the Ant-Man was born.

After his eyes shed what seemed to be a river, Henry washed, combed, shaved and then straightened his affairs with Princeton University. Because of his long unexplained absence, Professor Pym's tenure at the University was in peril. He decided it was better for both sides to resign his post.

Dr. Pym's respect for his country was replaced by anger. But that emotion was nothing in comparison to his burning rage for communists. Fueled by his great loss, he contacted the once esteemed US Government to present his current project. Henry's experimental sub-atomic particle serum could change a person's size. It would be an important advantage to agents behind the Iron Curtain.

Showing limited success on lab mice, the US government payroll-ed his experiments. The fellow scientists that he had hired to help perfect the shrinking potion gave up after several tries. This falling away of his supporters added to Hank's disillusions. Only by again listening to his beloved Maria's parting words could he find the fortitude to continue.

With no other subject available, the scientist used the shrinking serum on himself. A nude, quarter-inch Henry Pym soon found himself fighting off insects. One of those combative insects was a soldier ant. Once Henry had defeated him, it was strangely apparent that other ants considered him a leader. With their aid he finally made his way home and he dived into a test tube holding the antidote. Encouraged by his experience, the full sized Mr. Pym again went to the government.

Tragically, the other scientists who had abandoned him and the project had poisoned U.S. officials' mind. The one individual who Henry thought would never back-stab him, Dr. Elihas Starr, lead the chorus of "Crackpot" and "Unstable grasp of reality." Twice before, Henry had lobbied to secure Elihas lab jobs when no one else wanted him. The man who Henry thought would consider himself in debt to the young scientist evidently didn't share the same sentiments.

In a quick about-face, the CIA division of the government was no longer interested. Besides, Stark Industries was leading the way in advanced electronic surveillance. That sounded more feasible than altering a human's body in the order of a low- grade science fiction movie.

Erica… Henry's older sister, Erica Yolanda Pym Collingsworth. He called her Yollie because as a pre-teen, Erica preferred using her middle name. She christened him Nee because, as a toddler, Henry answered adults' queries about his name saying "Neh-Nee." Even today, Erica remembered her heart-break the moment he finally learned how to pronounce his name.

Sister and brother were inseparable, especially after they were left orphans at an early age. Their partnership worked well as they were bounced from one family member to another. Erica was extraordinarily strong and Henry learned from her the lessons needed to be a promoter. At the beginning of each school year Henry anxiously pleaded with his big sister not to arm wrestle the stronger boys that were a grade or two older than she was; but little Hank wasn't so distraught that he couldn't pass the paper bag to collect money from betting school mates. Yollie's victories in the initial and rematch challenges were definitely rewarding. But by mid-October, bruised male egos meant a drying up of the money river flow.

So here came the Holidays— Nee had the heartbreaking little pout, and Yollie was the scheming, heart-yanking mood setter. They played family and friends of their parents for extra digs into their wallets.

There went the Holidays— Sister Pym developed great scouting techniques. Brother Pym developed a remarkable skill in electronics and spray painting. From mid- January to early-March Yollie searched the trash cans of rich families. She concentrated on the homes with young children. Without fail, the duo found broken toys. Once they were brought home, Nee would refurbish them. Soon they were selling "hot item toys" at a discount.

Then here came June. After a long winter, the schoolboys encouraged themselves with their increased size and strength. What they somehow failed to realize was that Erica's muscles also matured over the seven months. They again fell victim to Pym and Pym, Inc. The profitable duel allowed themselves semi-vacations from money production over the summer. September meant they would be scooted off to another family member and a new school. That meant that Henry could cry over his sister's insane, sure-to-fail arm wrestling challenges in front of a new pool of suckers.

Now, the time when Erica "inherited" an accordion for her 13th birthday is an adventure to be revealed at another time.

As an adult in 1961, she provided food, rent money and care-giving for Henry during his break-down. Erica had an "in" with a TV news writer, Raymond Ailes. She'd tell him where reporters could catch politicians who avoid the press. In return, he gave her the top news leads before they were broadcast. Appearing to have a crystal ball to detect and deflect upcoming problems, Erica secured great respect from her employers at the US government. Ailes also gave her advice concerning the outrages U. S. behavior over the lost of her sister-in-law. If she loved her brother,she had to discourage him from going to the media. There were powerful forces in the government who used underworld connections to arrange for car accidents and untimely falls out of the window.

Erica herself recruited her own league of informers for the survival of Henry and herself.

After Henry recovered from his mental disability, he accepted the invitation to move in with Erica and her husband Barry. At that time, Hank still held his sister at arm's length. Yes, when he saw her as a loving family member, but he also saw someone that was veiled by the tissue-thin promises of the government. She would not understand what he felt.

Fooled by the government or not, Erica was not without insider connections. The former C.I.A. operative married her Barry, who was a rising star in the eyes of many in the President's Cabinet. Soon Mrs. Collingsworth joined her Under Secretary of State husband to become a high-ranking nonmilitary personnel in the Pentagon.

One of the family mottos that Erica continued to instill in Hank was, "Less tears to cry, more sweat to solve it." Perhaps that was why Maria's reference to the working ant stuck in her husband's head. At any rate, the motto was the driving force behind Yollie's push to get Nee's personal life back on track. Erica also convinced Henry to use the remainder of the U.S. grant money that was intended for size-changing experiments and invest it in instruments that could manipulate ants. Why not? Didn't he get a few of the insects to take him back to his desk and to the size-changing antidote? Controlling ants was something that would interest the military side of government. Insects could get into many restricted areas undetected. Hank also dabbled in miniature electronics. If both projects could be merged, ants could be trained to bring with them tiny homing devises into targeted areas. Consequently, U. S. airplane bombers would become the best in the world when it came to precision hits.

Yollie used her influence in the Pentagon to secure an income for Hank as a scientist providing war-related gadgetries. Unexpectedly, Henry stumbled into his own anti-espionage campaign. He invented circuitry that he placed inside of a hard plastic helmet. It could transmit cybergentic waves and communicate with ants. He altered the molecules of the size-changing liquid to make it a clingy vapor. His helmet, its electronics and clothing could also shrink after being permeated by the gas. Thus Ant-Man, the chief spy-buster, stepped onto the threshold of Legend. With the success of the new crusader, Yollie convinced officials that a money route should be open where government bounty money (set aside to combat espionage) could be "lost." After a few untraceable funds were misplaced, Henry no longer needed to stay with his sister.

Henry asked how he could possible repay her. Yollie replied, "Just keep wearing a red outfit when you visit me. I don't want to mistakenly reach for the bug spray."

His sister opened more things than a new life for Hank. She opened closed mysteries of two heroes. Spider-man was the first— that is an adventure, like the accordion incident, to be told later. But the most impressionable revelation concerned a fellow Avenger.

Henry received a tip from Erica that an Eastern menace, the Mandarin, had a two-man spy team in Long Island, New York. Ant-Man discovered their identities and captured them. In exchange for an opportunity to defect, they exposed the Mandarin's plan. He was going to somehow steal Stark Industries satellite spy drones while in orbit. The Ant-Man raced to tell owner and CEO Tony Stark. Slipping through a small space under an apartment window, he found the man who was so generous to the Avengers. Ant-Man was stunned when he saw the booze-indulging industrialist sitting on his lounge chair. The front of his shirt was wide open exposing a chest plate similar to the one worn by Iron Man. Alone and under the influence, Stark cursed out loud, stating that he was unable to enjoy a normal spoiled, billionaire life by his bad heart, the pressures of running his father's Empire, and prancing around as Iron Man.

Hank believed that it was best to turn around. He would later inform Erica and let the Pentagon summon a sober Anthony Stark to a meeting. Fours later—11:12 PM, New York time— two satellites went down in Red China. At 4 AM, a third went down in the same area. By 7:20 AM, Tony Stark was sitting in a meeting where military leaders were identifying the culprit.

As expected, Iron Man took care of the Mandarin. Still, the discovery of Stark's secret blew Henry's assumption. While in the company of the other Avengers, Ant-Man wasn't bothered about being the least physically imposing. That was because he had assumed that he had the smartest brain in the group. The fear of trailing badly in his imagined _importance hierarchy_ led to the manipulation of the shrinking sub-atomic particles to become a size-increasing stimulus. A week later, Giant-Man walked among the Avengers.

Janet… His life went swimmingly (relatively speaking) until his friend and former associate, Professor Vernon Van Dyne, was murdered. Vernon was one of the few people who Henry had confided in. The esteemed Professor Van Dyne was the first to call the size-changing sub-atomic particles, "Pym Particles". His flighty, but attractive, socialite daughter, Janet Olivia Van Dyne contacted Henry Pym with the horrendous news of the murder. What he didn't know about his friend was that Vernon could never keep a secret from his inquisitive daughter.

The first impression that Hank received was that she was a bit dingy and reserved. But that assumption evaporated after a session where Jan vigorously cajoled, and later threatened to expose Ant-Man's identity in order to allow her to join him in the hunt for her father's killer.

Hank surgically implanted small artificial, but functioning wings that were plainly visible when she shrunk. Together as the Wasp and Ant-Man they brought the killer to justice. But instead of moving on with her life, Jan stayed with Henry. The excitement of heroism and the attractiveness of Doctor Pym were magnetic.

In these last 13 months, the duo had shared adventures and a growing affection. He had to admit that he would have been lost on the field of battle without her. And the girl who first appeared all fluff and flighty gradually showed a spirited, intelligent and alluring personality to go along with her good looks.

Her wide eyes and her smile were so hauntingly like Maria. The differences were that Jan was inches shorter, her face was narrower, and Maria had hazel eyes as oppose to brown. Oh, and Jan wore her religion like an expensive bracelet. She only spoke of it when she was in the company of wealthy Bible-thumpers who could help her in a future commercial venture. Otherwise it was something to hide in the wall safe of her mind. That was okay with Hank. The wounds to his own faith had caused his beliefs to leak out some time ago.

For the past five months, he and Jan had also aligned themselves with the newly formed fighting group. The very unlikely union of very different characters—a blond haired, self-proclaimed deity, an armor wearing man-arsenal, a short tempered green skinned juggernaut—was Jan's idea. And so was the name that the group adopted—The Avengers.

* * *

"Ready?" a feminine voice asked behind Henry. He was brought back to the present with a startled jump. That brought giggles from Jan. There she stood; beautiful big brown eyes, slightly turned-up feminine nose, and gorgeous smile. The familiar black body-length leotards started from the top of her head. It had openings for her eyes and the lower portion of her face. The red one-piece body-contoured bathing suit over the leotards brought out the sensuality of her body. The red suit had shoulder pads and it slightly stretched away beginning at her waist to give it a "shorts" look. The matching gloves and boots gave her a real cute appearance.

"All right, all right. I wasn't expecting you to sneak up on me," he replied.

But she would not let go of his start so easily. "Let's get a move on, Mr. Courageous. The rains are coming and we wouldn't want you to get all shook up over droplets."

The couple made their way downstairs stopping to thank the Mansion's butler, Edwin Jarvis. Jan also made sure that she said goodbye to the mansion's only permanent resident.

Steve Rodgers— Captain America— was rescued by the Avengers when he was imitating Sleeping Beauty. He had been encased in Antarctic Ice since World War Two. After being rescued from suspended animation, the suave hero had played musical membership chair with the departed, brutish Hulk.

Presently, Steve Rogers was sitting in the Library. On the small table, by his comfortable chair, were two books about the World War that in his mind ended only recently. He was just now lost in a book chronicling the post-war and current years. Steve was a man trying to catch up with the modern age after being spat out of the mouth of history. He had so little of it in the war years and none today. Henry tried to make Steve feel comfortable in this modern age. The last thing they had shared was today's no-hit pitching performance of the Phillies' Jim Bunning against the New York Mets. Baseball was something that bridged gaps between men.

Henry understood that Steve saw himself as a square peg in a world of round holes. But his pity was tempered by the fact that the Star Spangled Avenger had the female-attracting facial features of a movie star. And his perpetually neatly combed, vibrant blonde hair stood out like a beacon in any crowd. Henry's wet-sand colored hair had to be cropped short because it could never be managed without a ton of hair dressing. He had to admit that even after months of strenuous exercise Henry's muscles weren't as voluminous as Steve's. Even now Steve's tank-width shoulders were stretching his grey sweatshirt to its limit. Henry slightly shook his head. Sure, Henry was glad that he hid the barb wire of childish jealousy. But he was ashamed that he even had to suppress such pettiness towards such a fine man as Steve.

Jan, on the other hand, wasn't as sensitive. She had picked up on Hank's "hidden" envy and enjoyed running with it.

Jan walked over to the studious reader. She pulled up her mask to reveal her full face. Jan then bent over suggestively. She then pulled the book down and away from Steve's eyes.

"Goodbye, handsome," the vixen smiled.

She was always doing that, Henry thought. She was openly flirting with handsome men in front of him. At first he thought it was rather funny. He imagined that it was her way of making him pay more attention to her. But there were two issues in the background. Firstly, her flirts had opened the door to two unwanted incidents months ago. Secondly, last week, when Henry had bestowed a glowing appraisal of his new lab assistant, Yolanda Vanko, Jan became flustered. It was an innocent expression of appreciation, and now the double standard began to gnaw at him. If Jan thought that his sincere praise for the young woman was inappropriate, why was it okay for her to continue her borderline scandalous attention towards men?

Jan walked away from Steve swaying seductively, "Make sure you don't get eye strain. It would be a shame to have you not notice when I enter a room."

Yes, Jan had shown signs that she wasn't the wallflower that entered Henry's life. Her confidence level was skyrocketing as she was seeing and enjoying her effects on men. Well, probably manipulation was a game that she had always played, but he hadn't seen it the first few months that they were together. Still, Henry kept to himself both the increasing uneasiness of her conscious male-maneuvering, and his resentment over her double standard.

Being a gentleman of a by-gone era, Steve had stood up when Jan turned to exit the room. He looked into Hank's eyes as if to apologize for some offense that he hadn't committed. Henry just shrugged and expressed as convincing an unbothered smile as he could muster.

In seconds the duo stood on the mansion's front porch. They each discharged two electric pulses with different functions from their respective hoods. The first was to activate the comfort-cooling mechanism in their costume. That was successful in combating the outside heat that instantly sought to oppress them. The second electronic command allowed Jan and Henry to shrink down to their public personas fast. Five months ago, the Pym Particles were transformed from a vaporous property to a liquid-in-a-capsule component that could be ingested and assimilated into their bodies. Their costumes were submerged in a small vat full of the same liquid and left to dry. Neither the humans nor the clothes immediately shrunk, but for the following 19 hours, the altered potion's power could be stimulated by cybergenic impulses. These were the impulses that were generated from the electronic circuit first found in Henry's plastic helmet and recently brought to a higher level of sophistication under the duo's hoods. Now with a particular cybergenic command, their size-changing was performed quicker and with more control over their stature.

Henry held on to his attractive partner's gloved hands with his right hand. The flight between the iron bars of the front gate was a small effort for the Wasp, but it would have exhausted her to continue carrying him for the seven-block distance to the East River. Hitchhiking onto car trunks would be necessary.

But all thoughts of further travel were stopped as the heroic pair overheard a desperate rant from a civilian who addressed one of the National Guardsman posted at the entrance. The agitated man was clean shaven, and well-dressed, wearing a light spring jacket that was clearly meant for last month's cooler weather. He wore it under the heat and humidity well.

"I must see the Avengers. It's a matter of life and death," he insisted.

His despair drew the curiosity of a crowd, but Jan continued her flight away from the scene. "The kook's" entertainment value had its limitation. On the other hand, the curious Henry had to find out what fueled the urgency in the man's pleas.

"You've got to be kidding," the Wasp said to her buddy hanging on below her.

"No, I'm not. If you won't turn around, I'll just shoot up to giant size."

She hesitated wondering if she should humor her hunk-a-bundle. Henry wasn't waiting. He let go of her hands and increased to a height of twenty feet before his feet harmlessly hit the street. Immediately the crowd turned their attention to the colossus who strode towards them.

The towering hero's voice boomed, "What seems to be the problem?"

The goodly attired man smiled in relief. He moved away from the Guardsman and brushed back his brown hair that was still moist from the last rainfall.

"Giant-Man! I'm so glad to see you. I have a message from the future."— He opened up his jacket to reveal six sticks of dynamite strapped around his stomach— "You won't have one."

* * *

References: Amazing Spiderman #6, Tales of Suspense #54, 55, Tales to Astonish # 44, 60. Avengers #1, 4, 32. Bible Text: Proverbs 6:6, Isaiah 49: 15, Jeremiah 29:11, John 14:27

Ray Ailes, Barry and Erica Pym Collingsworth are original character written for this story.


	2. Chapter 2: Interests and Pursuits

Chapter Two: Interests and Pursuits.

A crowd had gathered, curious over the shouting man's antics. They erupted into panic at the sight of the dynamite. Seconds ago, Giant-Man had already sensed something was wrong when the well-attired man began unbuttoning his spring jacket. Now, the sight of the explosives on his body verified Hank's cautiousness. At fifteen feet, the hero had the strength of at least forty men. His first impulse was to grab the man and hurl him into the sky to prevent a greater the loss of lives than the lone bomber himself. But when the suicide bomber reached into his pocket with his right hand, Giant-Man knew that the explosion was not a surety. The necessary charger was now coming out to full view.

With lightning reflexes, Hank pressed the sides of the bomber's right wrist with his left thumb and index finger. As expected, the man instinctively reacted to the pain by opening his hand and dropping the detonator into the three fingers of the same giant hand. The charger was then swallowed up by his hand.

When the bomber tried to reach for his torso, the towering hero suspected that there was another way to enact the explosion. Giant-Man's free hand captured the bomber's searching fingers and pulled them away from the explosives.

"No, no , no", the would-be assassin yelled as he sat on the sidewalk kicking at Hank's hands.

The suicide bomber screamed, "This time the—"

Suddenly a red boot shot out of nowhere. The heel caught the screamer squarely on the side of his head and the man screamed no more. It pays to team up with a former dancer, Hank thought.

Jan shook her head looking at the six National Guardsmen pointing their rifles at the downed bomber.

"Let me guess," she said. "You were going to shoot him to prevent him from going boom and taking out the whole block. And did we figure out what would happen if a bullet hit his chest or, if you hit his skull, what'll happen when he falls forward on the dynamite?"

She turned to her beau and sharply said, "Let's get out of here."

They returned to their previous sizes and the Wasp took her companion up above the street lights.

She scolded, "Are you happy? You stop to help the freaking idiot and he had a going away present for you under his jacket."

"Well, sort of. Did you think he wasn't going to use the dynamite elsewhere?"—Hank turned around to see that Steve Rodgers had joined the soldiers who surrounded that bomber.—"And maybe at that other place, there would be no one around to keep his hands off of the detonator… So yes, I'm glad I stopped and put an end to his scheme."

The Wasp didn't want to argue the point when he pictured the scenario in that light. But she continued to pick at him on subjects that she felt sure she could win. Jan started with his idea of moving away from Manhattan and then for his inability to sleep away from home.

On their way to the river, the duo anchored themselves on a car's truck until it made a northern turn. Then the wasp took her partner onto another car that was heading in the right direction. The car exhausts added to her irritation towards Hank.

"Why didn't you bring the copter, Mr. Cute-But-Dumb?"

"Because two weeks ago, Thor had utterly shattered it when he was under the Enchantress' spell. Gee, I could have sworn you were sitting next to me when it happened. It must have been your twin sister."

"I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT THE REAL COPTER, DIM-WIT! I was talking about your toy."

Hank explained that the tiny two-seater that could accommodate the insect-sized duo was an answer to every bird's prayer. He had installed an experiential electric force field to ward off winged predators. But he wasn't confident about using the electrical defensive device in the rain. The Ant-slash-Giant-Man had no intention of gaining another identity as the Barbequed-Man.

In minutes, the couple's car-to-car hitch-hiking brought them to the Eastside Highway. One the other side of it was the river that separated the Manhattan from Queens.

"Next time," the Wasp complained, "let's just come in our regular size. Then you can carry a wallet and pay for a damn taxi. Is that okay with you, cheapskate?"

As was becoming the custom in their relationship, the Wasp's verbal stings had reached a point that caused Henry to tense up for a few seconds. Then suppressing his reaction, he calmly replied. "I already explained about the unwanted attention that comes when wearing a top coat in summer to cover our costumes."

When the Wasp rose over the highway, taking Ant-Man with her, Hank added, "Now we could buy clothes larger than our sizes and hide our costumes under them. But you would look fat."

Hank was pretty sure that he shut up the appearance-conscious heroine. That wasn't the case.

Jan said, "We could bring regular clothes in a satchel and demand that no one looks into it."

"But we would still have to find a place to change, before entering the grounds."

Jan smirked, "For a big brain, you sure can't get around mundane problems, can you?"

Back at the sidewalk in front of the Avengers Mansion one slim, long-faced man grimly surveyed the scene as the New York City police took away the awakened suicide bomber. He walked casually to the 5th Avenue corner and looked towards Central Park as rain droplets began to chat with each other upon his raincoat.

A dark limousine then pulls up before him. Being alone on the corner, the tall, slender, mustached man was free to talk to the driver.

"I have been observing them for these past days. Tell the master that the one he is looking for is not with them. There was a little excitement here —a bomb threat. Certainly that would have caused that individual to come out of the house and make his presence known."

The man drew a frustrated breath and continued, "I'm going to check out of the hotel and I'm coming back to base."

The driver's low tone was barely audible when he answered back.

"What?" the thin fellow asked. "You mean catch up with Cannon? I have an informant who…. An entirely new person, now?"—the man let out an annoyed groan— "He's unbelievably intelligent and he could be a mutant, got it. I will see to it. Not now— I have no pen on me, you dolt. Call me with the address and phone number at the hotel in a half hour. Yes, I'll call this Starr fellow immediately."

The driver hurled an insult at him and drove off with a laughing cackle. The slim faced man was tempted to react— to teach the round faced leech a well-deserved lesson. But he thought better of it. He was supposed to attract no interest and there were too many people in the street now. The man raised his arm to hail a taxi cab. Among a sea of vehicles, a few cab drivers swerved their way toward him in an attempt to get his fare. The man smiled under the strengthening rain. Many tried, but only one driver was skillful enough to get to him. It was yet another practical illustration of life that the master always espoused. The superior is deserving of rewards, not the inferior.

On the borderline of New York's Queens County and Long Island's Nassau County was an out-of-the-way restaurant that served excellent food. But the menu wasn't the reason that Klaus Voorhees sat with an amused face. He alternated his sunken brown eyes between the steak he was carving and the man who invited him to eat.

Klaus' last encounter with the long haired hero, Thor, resulted in defeat. He and his then partner, Mr. Hyde, ended up in the hands of the police, but they could not keep the Cobra for long. Since then, he had eluded law enforcement with little effort. Now, who was completely bald, sat in a restaurant opposite a little, thin, balding twit who knew where Klaus could be found. Voorhees opened his mouth and began to uncoil his smooth, beguiling baritone voice.

"So you say your employer had the information as to my whereabouts. I should be thankful that he didn't turn me in, shouldn't I?"

The thin, balding little man stopped eating. Looking at his ominous guest the small man again resumed his nervous push of his glasses back to the upper portion of his nose. In the midst of the chatter of the filled dining room, he answered.

"Well, he thinks the world of "—the man whispered the word—"Cobra." Returning to his normal tone, he added, "He thinks you would be a valuable addition as his body guard."

"Hmm, even with my reputation?"

The smile on Voorhees's face emitted a danger that rattled the smaller man. He arched his eyebrows and put down his eating utensils as if a lead weight mysteriously entered into his stomach.

"Yourrr reputaaaatioooon."—the man looked down to his plate and then at the jacketed, but tie-less guest with a nervous smile. "Yes, well your talents make you, ah, a sought-after employee."

Klaus' hated the sight of weaklings. But at that second, the frightened reaction that he produced on the feeble twerp was most gratifying. The little man pushed his chair away from the table. He wiped his mouth, not conscious of the steak sauce that assaulted his yellow tie.

"Mr. Voorhees, you have my card. Please consider this very lucrative offer. I know my employer can pay you richly."

"Must you go, Mr. …"

"Arthur Shapiro. It's on the card."

"Yes, I keep forgetting. You haven't finished your meal."

"That's all right. I have to watch what I'm eating. You finish your food. It's on my account and, of course, all you wish to drink. I-I-I had a previously taxing rendezvous earlier and it seemed to have tired me out."

"Reeeeally?" Klaus Voorhees asked. With raised eyebrows, Klaus' face openly doubted Arthur's assertion.

Arthur walked backwards from the table in an apologetic manner.

"Yes. I was seeing an acquaintance whose home may be in foreclosure, you see. And anyway, I need to learn when to say stop to rich foods."

The un-costumed Cobra smiled as he watched Shapiro leave hastily. Shapiro dieting? He was a twig of a man already. The seated figure lifted the wine to his mouth. If his millionaire boss was as easily intimidated, Voorhees thought that this was definitely an "offer" he'd take.

* * *

Finally, the tiny couple had successfully reached the banks of the East River. The wind was still manageable, Henry thought. It took seconds for Ant-Man's sensors to summon a flying ant. He then used his hood's miniature devise to phone across the river. Henry waited for his new lab assistant to answer.

Yolanda… She was a sweetheart. Instead of resting on down periods from her lab work, she volunteered at Happy Valley Day Care Center two blocks away. She said the pre-kindergarten children invigorated her. Henry hoped so— he was worried about her suffering an early life burn-out.

Like Jan, his second "Yollie," had features that reminded Hank of Maria. She had her height, her laughter, and face width. At times, her ice-blue eyes appeared as hazel as Maria's . She was the daughter of Olesya and Anton Vanko. Her father, of course, was the genius inventor and former Soviet Communist. Anton created the armored would-be assassin, The Crimson Dynamo. He was defeated by Iron Man and later convinced to defect to America. In Eastern Russia, Anton also devised the destructive helmet of a future Soviet hero, The Unicorn.

Milos Masaryk was the KGB agent assigned to be Anton Vanko's body guard. Nearly a year after the scientist's defection, the communist leadership ordered Milos to don the helmet and bring back Anton. Vanko was to finish the Unicorn deign and then be executed.

Unfortunately, Vanko was already dead. He gave up his life saving Iron Man from a second Crimson Dynamo. Boris Turgenov, one of the KGB's best hit men, entered Stark's Industries and stole Vanko's armored arsenal. He was close to finishing off Iron Man. But heroes rise to the occasions without special protective attire, fully knowing that their chances of surviving their courage acts are bleak. Anton's untested Molecular Descrambler Laser stopped Turgenov. In backfiring, the weapon also took the hero.

The Soviets did not believe he was dead, however. They were convinced that Anton had to be hiding somewhere in America. Therein came Yolanda's importance. Family members hid the girl when news of Anton's defection was heard over the outlawed station, Radio Free Europe. Soviets officials launched a search to find her— the fear for her safety would flush the traitor out.

Weeks before the hunt for Yolanda was initiated, Anton, as a valuable inventor in Stark Industries, asked Tony Stark to pull in payback favors from US officials to track down his only child. Short lived allies were produced when crooks behind the Iron Curtain were looking for extra pocket money. Days later, Yolanda had a sudden urge to become a fisher-gal. The young lady was on a boat that hit an unexpected storm— unexpected if Soviet mariners ignored the weather warnings available to them. The novice fisher was washed overboard and "drowned" at sea. Hours later, someone named Yolanda Vanko (funny, how many girls could have that name) was resting inside of the United States Consulate in Japan.

The years passed almost as quickly as her change of aliases. Miss Vanko had proven to be her father's daughter. She was smarter than the teachers that Stark had assigned to her. She graduated valedictorian at a prestigious university just before her sixteenth birthday. Tragically, Anton's final heroic sacrifice had prevented him from being there. Equally tragic was the unwanted attention that the press gave the young genius. In her cap and gown, her image appeared in local newspapers and that made some States-side Russian informants raise their eyebrows.

After the graduation, she was whisked to many places around the country to continue her Graduate Degree. Finally at eighteen, Yolanda demanded a regular residence. Stark wanted Yolanda far from her late father's surrounding due to the fact that not all Soviet Spies had been detected and imprisoned. But he wanted her near enough so that he could personally check up on her every week. Funny how _**his**_ past check-ins were conducted by his Executive Secretary Virginia Potts. She proved to be a great friend, though recently their contacts were cut down in time spent together. Still, Yolanda admired her and even took her last name in one of her aliases.

Henry Pym, the premiere biologist, and sometime contributor to Stark Industries, had obtained many government grants to secure a good income and a cozy environment for an assistant. Henry became Stark's choice of "custodian." She's been under his roof since.

The interchange between the two intellectuals was so free, so challenging (in a friendly way), so mutually entertaining that a keen ear could have picked up a change on Dr. Pym's side. Whenever he donned the Giant-man mask, the size-changer spoke in a lower tone. He also took on the southwest Tennessee twang that he picked up from his brother-in-law back in those pre-Ant-man months while staying with Mr. and Mrs. Collingsworth. That "twang" may have made him sound like a southerner to a Yankee, but folks from the real south would have called him an _out-of-towner_. At any rate, while Henry had his mask on, he found it hard to break away from his pseudo voice— even in front of Jan. But after a month of conversation with his new assistant, upon hearing Yolanda's voice, Henry's natural vocal cadences and tone surfaced. It was something that had continually went unnoticed by Jan Van Dyne. Considering the older woman's growing sense of violation to her territory, that was a good thing.

Now, on the Manhattan side of the river, Henry waited for Yolanda to pick up the phone. His 'Hello" was answered by singing praises about his mastery in electronic communication.

"Your brilliance knows no bounds, Henry." Yolanda said. " Most so-called geniuses specialize in one field. You own both the biochemistry field and electro-technology."

"Finally," Henry responded with a smile, "I got you off that 'Mr. Pym' stuff. But don't make too much of this. I just built this upon the principal of the already invented walky-talky. The real geniuses are Tesla, then later Hings and Gross."

"Oh, but you are modest. I still insist that your contribution can revolutionize the telephone. Your wireless communicator can break into traditional phone lines. I believe that one day everyone will walk around with their own personalized telephones. They will tell time, pick up weather reports, play music, take photos—"

"You've been reading my papers. I'm honored that we share the same vision."

"Yes well, I couldn't resist. And the best aspect of all is that phone would be small enough to fit in one's pocket. You will be recognized as the father of modern communications."

"Forget being a lab assistant. I need to hire you as a PR-woman. Please be there with your pocket book and I promise to bake cheesecake for dessert tomorrow. ….. Yes, I finally have my sister's recipe."

"Oh, how do you say, 'Pick me up at the Queens Bridge Park' in Spanish?" the young woman asked her student.

Henry laughed. He repeated his request in Spanish. His playfully teacher gave him an A-minus because he took too long to finish.

Off to the side, the Wasp folded her arms. She moved into Henry's sight to show her disapproval over their more-than-official talk.

After Yolanda hung up, Henry began to chuckle and say, "I was never good at foreign languishes. But she's just eighteen and she's mastered English and a dozen other tongues. Quite a -"

Henry stopped himself remembering the last time that he had complimented Yollie's superior intellect.

"She can master any tongue she wants,' Jan snapped, "except yours. It stays in your mouth, understand?"

He mounted a flying ant and resisted commenting on her off-color remark.

Jan continued with a snide, "Well, at least I should be thankful that you didn't call yourself her biggest fan for the third time this week."

Henry was about to argue that there was nothing inappropriate with that. He merely admired her for overcoming strong adversities in her life to now appear to rival her amazing father in ingenuity. Before he could speak, the Wasp flew off. Maybe it was just as well that he said nothing.

Jan's superior wings allowed her to move in front, but not too far so that the Ant-Man couldn't see her. It was yet another of those traits that she was beginning to unveil— her competitive taunting.

But Hank wasn't biting. He didn't want to race the flying queen ant so as to exhaust her. Both rider and transporter would be taking a dip into the cold water. He would survive, since his Ant-Man costume was insulated, but his winged steed would not. Henry was satisfied with the speed that the insect was traveling.

Leaving one flying ant on Welfare Island, Henry mounted a fresh winged carrier to conclude the trek. As was the case on the first leg of the flight, they managed to whisk over the waves with no problem. Suddenly there was a distant patter on the water behind him. THE RAIN WAS COMING!

Hank pressed his carrier to speed up— to stay in front of the coming cannonball-like droplets. His anxiety eased as the ant's own sense of self-preservation took over and infused enough strength into her wings to seemingly win the race. But as the Wasp disappeared into the bushes of the Queens Bridge Park located by the river side, a strong gust of wind jetted the ant and her driver up and away from the shore.

"Steady girl," his cybernetic impulses feed into the insect's mind. "Don't fight. We have a little time before the rain catches up. Don't exhaust yourself. Wait until the wind dies and then make your way down."

Just then a rush of urgency instinctively filled Hank's heart. What was it? It couldn't have been the sudden wind up-sweep.

Suddenly a feminine voiced yelled his name and he was knocked off of the ant. Jan's arms wrapped themselves securely around his chest, keeping him from falling. Then the horrible happened. A robin, which looked like a whale in Hank's eyes, swallowed the flying ant.

If the red-chest bird was satisfied, the bird's stalker was tantalized. Unbeknownst to the Robin, she was targeted by a small hawk. An Osprey was nearly 50 feet above her. The Hawk was two feet bigger than Jan and the Robin, but finding the Wasp's colorful uniform more enticing, the young Osprey changed her menu. Known to top off at 35 miles an hour, Jan should have had no problem out-distancing the bird. But the dive in which the hawk was embarking increased the predator's speed to approach 80. Add to that equation that the two Avengers spotted the dive late, and they realized a real alarm.

The Wasp raced towards the bushes of the park with the hawk right behind her. The Ant-Man, intending to scare the bird away, said, "I need to spring up to normal size— you keep going."

"Sure— and you float unhurt on the jagged rocks by the water or on the park's spiked gates! No way!"

"Two seconds is all I need, then I'll go back—"

Jan wasn't listening. Her eyes spotted Yolanda Vanko on the other side of the iron park fence. The young lady didn't realize what danger the diminutive duo was in, but her open pocket book looked like a welcoming haven.

"Finally, Kremlin girl has a use besides being a paper weight," Jan said resentfully.

The flapping of the hawk's wings increased in alarming volume behind them. Finally, as they neared Yolanda, the predator re-directed her flight. Both mini-Avengers made it into her handbag. Yolanda peeked into the pocket book and then closed the top just as the rain began hitting the handbag.

"Mmmmm," the Wasp then purred. In the dark confine, she and the sullen Hank were safe and dry, enjoying an embrace. Jan wasn't upset since she clinically rationalized that death is a constant in the wild. But she knew how connected Henry could become to the insects that had interactions with him. The death of the flying ant was just a way of nature, she reminded him. It gave her a thrilling sense of empowerment when she held him at vulnerable moments. In addition, these were the times that he was most open to hugs.

Judging by the noise of the rain against the bag, Jan figured that the girl-genius was getting soaked. Life couldn't get any better, could it? Actually, if she ended up looking like a wet alley cat, yes it could.

Rats. That Yolanda-broad must have known that they were cuddling. The ride was getting bumpy. Once they reached the penthouse, Jan was going to return back to human size and find that cactus Hank was experimenting on. Then she'll show Yolanda the meaning of a rough ride.

Senator Harrington Byrd rushed his girlfriend off the phone when he heard his wife's car pull into the driveway. He grumbled inwardly, thinking that the old bat should have played three more hands of cards with the other fat old hens who she calls friends.

It didn't matter, really. Phone intimacy was nothing like actually being there with his pants lying on his mistress' bedroom floor. Besides, he should be preparing himself for this week's speech on the Senate floor. He had to take down Stark Industries.

Anthony Stark, himself, was either a clock without a main spring or just a cover for the communists. How else to explain that Stark regularly had his inventions "stolen" by the enemies of the state? Commies like Scarecrow and Natasha Romanov almost got away. It was always left to Iron Man to retrieve the technologies and clean up the mess. If it wasn't for his body guard who knows which America-hater would have those weapons? Then again, was it an act? Was shell-man in on the deal? How could anyone be sure that the Iron Man recovered the inventions before the U. S.'s enemies x-rayed and examined them?

Senator Byrd is going to charge his fellow Senators to open up an investigation on the playboy industrialists. His associates have to be raked over the coals also; all of them, including that pretty-boy-Pym jerk. Byrd wouldn't be surprised if they were all connected with the Red. Or at least, they were too irresponsible to have a hand in National Security.

Even if Stark wasn't a traitor all that whoring around was just as bad. It left him brain drained and susceptible to espionage thievery. Stark should be exposed as an incompetent who was too preoccupied with into what warm woman he could stick his vitals.

It's shameless how he flaunts his many women in front of the cameras. His immorality certainly isn't a good influence on the youth of America. Speaking about the youth, the Senator took up his phone and deactivated the "last call dialed" feature. No telling if his wife Martha will accidently hit the wrong button and dial Meagan.

Cross References: Tales of Suspense #46, 52, 56, Journey Into Mystery # 98, 106; Avengers # 7. Arthur Shapiro is an original character written for this story.


	3. Chapter 3: Southern & Northern Concerns

Chapter 3: Southern Concerns, Northern Concerns.

Summer is when the days lengthen to most children's delight. But where some youngsters look forward to extra playing time, others cringe knowing that the delay of darkness could mean the giving away of their hiding places, their refuge.

On a little Mississippi farm, three-and -a half-year-old year old Paige Guthrie hid behind the old, weather-beaten shed as the late afternoon brought slightly cooler air. Her hand-me-down pink t-shirt and gray shorts hung around her frame loosely. She held Holly closely. Holly needed reassurance to calm her fears. Holly was a cotton-leaking, dirty Raggedy-Ann doll that she and her brother found on the road. The doll had since been cleaned and Dr. Sam— Paige's brother— had patched her up.

There was a reason why Paige and Holly were hiding. Tolerating the southern heat and humidity was just one of a long string of reasons why Poppa got drunk. And when Marvis Guthrie got drunk, he got mean. Hitting mean! Paige traced the scars on her left arm remembering the last time he had thrown her down the porch steps. Paige loved the man, but when he became violent, the girl didn't like her daddy as much. Actually, when Poppa became drunk, she hated herself, … her freakish self.

Momma told Paige Ann Guthrie to go visit the Billings house down the road. There she could join her older brother Sam and play with her girlfriend Frannie. Momma always escorted the girl everywhere, so if she sent Paige off alone, that meant that Momma must have gotten wind that Poppa was drinking in town. Lucinda Rae Guthrie was going to check what mood her husband was in. If necessary, she was going to hold off Poppa from striking out. Lucinda's children didn't need to see any of it. Paige knew she was being a disobedient bad girl, but she couldn't go and leave momma with poppa.

Poppa's pickup truck screeched as it pulled up to the main house. The loud noise meant that the brakes were over-working. The breaks over-working meant Poppa was speeding. Poppa's speeding meant trouble. She brushed back the light-rusty, curly hair that the wind tossed into her face. She looked on as the man made his way into the house with unsteady and angry strides.

The little girl held Holly closer and began singing softly. Holly needed singing to chase away her worry, but Paige's own voice was beginning to tremble. That couldn't be all that calming for Holly. Paige's cheeks began to feel the familiar running of tears. This was all her fault. Poppa deserved a better daughter than her. Who could blame him that he just couldn't take fathering a freak. She was a bad girl and all this her fault. Her fault, … her fault, entirely.

The bad girl's whimpering began to increase in volume. She was losing her fight to stay calm for Holly's sake. There was a second reason why she had to stop. In her own little mind, Paige thought that her parents would have been able to hear her from forty yards away.

Then the litle child heard what she feared the most. Banging came from within the old wooden house. Momma? Yes. When Momma cried out in pain, Paige knew that Poppa was using her as a handball.

Paige's tears now cascaded as she visualized what was happening. Paige should be the one getting smacked around. She was the horrible freak, not Momma. She shouldn't go back for her mother. She shouldn't. Momma said she shouldn't. She should have stayed quiet, but her own voice cracked in hysterics as she heard Momma cry. Then came smacking sounds, like skin hitting skin…. Like hand hitting face. Her little body trembled as Momma's voice got louder. Paige should stay out of the house. She should. She promised.

Immersed in her inner conflict, the crying girl hadn't noticed that she was hypnotically inching her way towards the house. She was suddenly pulled out of her trance by the shouting of her name.

The girl turned around to see her brother running her way.

Samuel Jonas shouted, "Paige, … Pa's skunked ag-in. Yah-in stay back. Ah'm gonna help Ma."

The girl quickly placed Holly on the sun burned grass. Just as speedily, Paige then hurled herself at his feet, tripping him. She held on to the fallen boy's legs. "Not wid'out me. Id's mah faul' dat he's d'unk. AH should be da one —"

The boy raised his face off of the grass and turned with anger. But the anger wasn't directed at her.

"Stop talkin' crazy. Yah'll ain't nutin' ta do wid Pa's stupid-ness. Now stay he-ah."

It became apparent that the more time that they spent arguing, the more battering their mom was suffering. The boy turned towards the noises coming from the house and then he turned back to Paige.

"Ah-kay. Y' wanna help? Come on."

Sam took his sister up in his arms and began running. He explained that he had a plan and she had to do as he said. The little girl wasn't sure if his "plan" meant that she stay hidden and Sam would enter the house. When Paige shook her head and said no, Sam's face exploded with the same rage that she had seen many times in Poppa. Paige's heart nearly leaped out of her chest in fear.

"Do wha' ah say, girl. God gave yah-ll dat talent of yers fo' some good. An' taday, dat good is ta save Momma. YER DOIN' WHA' AH SAY!"

Just then a shriek that the children had never heard before robbed the air of all space. The small hairs on the back of the boy's head stood electrified. It sounded like Poppa was killing her.

Suddenly a weird glow surrounded him. And according to Paige's estimation, the remaining thirty or so running paces to the porch didn't happen. They were suddenly in the living room facing Poppa's back as he hunched over. Between his legs they saw Momma sitting on the floor before him. They saw her upright torso, but not her hands. That meant that she was trying to stop Poppa from choking her.

"Now Paige!" Sam yelled. The girl's skin became loose and started to fall off, but not fast enough for Sam. He placed her on the floor and pulled off her skin with the strength beyond that of his nine-year-old frame. He didn't care that he ripped off her t-shirt as well— decency had to take a back seat now. In the place of Paige's smooth skin, there was a stony exterior. Again, Sam glowed. Sam took Paige in his arms once more, stepped to the side and then with the strength that could have rivaled a gorilla, he tossed the statue-like girl onto his father, striking the man's head with hers. Both daughter and father hit the floor— Paige obviously landed with no pain.

Even though she was now made of stone, Paige could move like any other person. Paige rolled over onto her back to see Sam putting his arms around her mother. The sobbing, coughing woman was okay.

But now something sparked to the girl's mind. Amazingly, Samuel Jonas Guthrie was a freak like her. It caused a warming feeling in her, but she questioned how did he manage to keep it hidden for so long? On her hands and knees, Paige crawled slowly to her unconscious father.

"Poppa?" she whispered with a frightened quiver. Her hand gently brushed away his hair to reveal the red, swelling bruise on his forehand. It was her fault he was drunk. Now it was her fault that he was injured. New tears began to run.

"Wha' I told yah'll abou' talkin' crazy," she heard Sam call. "He's ah-kay. He's breed-in,' right?"—Paige looked at her father's moving chest and she nodded.

Sam continued, "It's jus' a time-out fer 'im. We all need time-outs some-taimes, don't we?"

Momma slid over the wooden floor to hug the girl and reinforced Sam's words: Paige was innocent of any influences that moved her father to do things. As a matter of fact, she was God's little blessing angel to the family.

"Yep," Samuel agreed. Stroking his sister's hair he added, "Yah-in did good, Paige… liddle angel."

But the girl pulled away and hung her face over her father's eyes hoping to see them open. The stone skin began to crack and fall away in little pebbles. She moved away as the face portion began to fall off of her. Paige didn't want it hitting Poppa. It took seconds to finish the transformation. Her brother pulled the girl towards him in a one-arm hug.

"Yah-in did good," Sam repeated.

Paige sat on the floor, joining Sam and Momma. They hugged and cried. A cool breeze came through the open door as if it knew that their faces needed drying. They continued crying until all the tears were spent. Then Sam broke the silence.

"Y'know, Paige. Fer a tiny angel, yah'll weigh an awful bunch."

Her giggling sliced through everyone's somber emotions.

"If-in dat wasn't bad enough fer me, who d'ya think is gonna get stuck sweepin' yer pebbles away?"

Her giggles became an infectious laughter.

* * *

The Jacob Kurtzberg Building wasn't as tall as those found across the river, but it was second to none in imaginative, exciting design. It even eclipsed anything one might see in Washington, DC. In two of the eight lobby elevators a visitor might notice four additional floors that could be accessed only by a credit card-sized security pass that was slid into a thin linear opening over the floor-button panel. These floors housed the training room, laboratories and living quarters of one Dr. Henry Steven Pym.

From one of those special elevators, three figures stepped onto the lower level of the four-tiered penthouse. Inside the foyer, young Yolanda Vanko placed her pocket book down on a table set against a wall opposite the elevator. To Yolanda's left, Dr. Pym's eyes were being entertained by his co-Avenger girlfriend.

Jan Van Dyne had taken off the head-hood portion of her famed Wasp costume. Her hair was matted down, but she still looked mighty attractive. Jan decided to deal with two pressing issues at that moment. To fluff out her hair, she bent over, shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. The second reason she did this was to give her Henry a good view of her, eh, …background credentials. She made sure that those credentials shook with as much energy as her head.

She didn't have to look back—she knew she had enslaved her blue-eyed hunk-a-bundle. A conquering smile had spread across her face.

"Henry," Yolanda said, " I have sandwiches waiting and the soup will be ready by the time you wash up."

"Thank you," Hank responded.

The happy expression on Jan's face quickly soured even before she made a slow turn towards Hank. Sure enough, her eyes confirmed that she had lost her prisoner. … And he was recaptured by the curvy, young snot-nose. Hank had flipped back his mask to smile at her. _**Body languish**_, Jan thought gritting her teeth. He was open to her. Damn it, where's that cactus?

"We can go for that," Henry said, commenting on the food.

"Who is we?" Jan muttered.

Jan raised her voice to nearly sing, "That's so nice." Then in a sarcastic tone, she added, "Who wouldn't miss an eight course dinner in a mansion for that. Yuuum-my."

"Food is food, Jan." Hank replied sharply. "I think that we should be thankful for Yolanda's consideration." He turned and headed for the bathroom.

That cactus would have two butts riding it if Jan could've gotten her hands on it right then. Jan didn't like Hank siding with anyone other than her. Miss Van Dyne was the lioness in this den, and to prove it, Jan showed her claws.

"You're right," Jan smirked. "I just thought that food over there would be good, that's all."

"I'm sorry if my food doesn't agree with you." Yolanda said coldly. "But you never complained before."

Henry stopped his forward motion, but he couldn't hear Jan's reply. Hank felt responsible for the recently developed tension between the two females. At the time, he hadn't any idea that his praise of the soon-to-be nineteen-year-old would have caused all this. Even now, he wondered how the words that he used in appreciating Yolanda Vanko's high intellect and bright personality could have been tempered. It wasn't over-the-top. He never mentioned her great looks or her sizable… eh, never mind. Henry turned around to witness a staring match between the two. He immediately intercepted the visual challenge by stepping in front of Jan.

He whispered, "Despite whatever is bothering you let's try to act civil, shall we?"

Henry then turned to the younger woman and smiled. "Your cooking has been more than excellent. I never found it a let-down. Tell the truth, I couldn't stay in the mansion any longer. Jarvis would have insisted that we sleep over and I never have a comfortable rest away from my bedroom."

Perhaps it was due to the anger that she felt over Henry's siding with the snot, but the fiery brunette rolled her eyes and sassed him. "Oh, brother. Come on, you're a full grown man, Hank. "

As if warning bells sounded in her head, Jan became concern as to how he'd take that. He didn't want to cause a divide in front of Russian rodent. She added some endearment to her words (besides, pet names were clear markers stating that Hank was spoken for).

"Sweetheart, I think it's childish to think you can't survive in a different bed for one night. Would it help if I bought you a teddy bear and warm milk for those sleepovers, honey?"

Henry stepped away silently. But Yolanda came to his defense.

The young women slid herself in front of Hank's path to say, "I understand your uneasiness. And as for being a full grown man"— her tone and her glace towards Jan was definitely combative— "you have the right to decide where to go and where to stay. One who works as hard as you do fighting criminals and inventing new technologies deserves that minimal right.

"As I said, I understand you, Henry. Though my work load isn't as heavy, I also prefer my own bed."

Jan fumed. WHAT? She was acting like she's defending Hank from her? Jan gestured towards Yolanda with fingers opened and her palm facing up. "When I said childish, do I need further proof?"

"Jan!" Hank shouted. She put both hands up to allow her to finish.

"All I'm saying that adults don't have that problem. I can sleep anywhere."

"Yes, " Yolanda hissed. "I'm sure that we could find an army of men that could testify that you don't care in what bed you sleep."

The woman charged towards each other. Henry again stood between them. Facing the new lab assistant, he stretched his arms out to the sides, preventing Jan from getting around him. Henry's face shown surprise, and his tone was angry.

"That was uncalled for, young lady. Apologize right now."

_**Well about time he was taking my side**_, Jan thought triumphantly.

The agitated Russian beauty was having ideas as to how to angle herself to get closer to Jan. It was when Hank angrily called out her name that the two sets of blue eyes met. After a few seconds Yolanda repented unconvincingly.

"Janet Van Dyne, I apologize," she said with a cold voice to match her look. She turned to leave when Henry told her to stop. The man then turned to the older of the females.

"In the future you will not address Yolanda as a child. She has earned both our respect as a colleague and a woman. Am I clear?"

_**Oh no, he didn't,**_ Jan thought. _**He didn't just call me out in front of Miss Frozen Diaper Rash of 1964, did he? Where's that cactus?**_

"I think it's your turn to apologize, Jan." he concluded. The woman tilted her forehead forward like an angry bull ready to charge.

"Janet?" Henry's voice rose.

_**Oh yeah?**_ She thought. _**Well, we'll have some talking to do in private, Mister.**_

Jan finally nodded and returned the sentiment as frigidly as Yolanda had done.

"I'm sorry Yolanda Vanko." But Henry swore that he heard her mutter something about a "hole." He thought it was best to ignore it and not reignite a smoldering fire.

"Thank you, ladies. Jan, please wash up. Then come to me at Lab B. I have a present for you."

Jan thought, _Oh, nice recovery, big guy._ Her Hank had said that loud enough for Yolanda's ears. That will show the Russian Rat who rules here.

"Certainly, dear," Jan said with a big smile. Though her pearly whites were primarily directed towards her hunk-a-bunch she moved her head a bit forward and beyond his shoulder's deltoid. She wanted to make sure that Yolanda saw her celebratory smile.

It was only in the privacy of his room that Hank started to think about the incident before the bird attack. The suicide bomber began to say "This time," just as Jan's boot met his face. As he pulled off his costume, Hank asked himself, was it a mindless rant, or was he about to repeat the battle cry of the Sons of the Serpent?

Did it have anything to do with the press conference held months ago? In New Mexico the Avengers, with the unwitting help of the Hulk, turned away the surface invasion of the subterranean Lava People. The Avengers returned to New York City, where Captain America, the Wasp and Giant-Man consented to participate in a press conference.

During the session, the questions diverted from the danger of the Lava Men to what was happening in certain areas of the nation.

Giant-Man revealed that he and Thor had spoken of the racists practices. If it didn't attract vengeance-minded enemies and bomb threats, both Thor and Giant-Man would have joined the Civil Rights Marches.

"Outrageous," "atrocious" and "cancer to the nation" were some of the words Hank used in describing the violent Sons of the Serpent, in particular.

Cap joined in to remind the reporters about the dreams and goals that America was founded upon. There was obvious hypocrisy in some of the founding fathers, but the realization that life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness was divinely bestowed was unshakable. No individual, group, or government gave it to us. Hence, no human individual or institution could rightly take it away. Anyone attempting such a crime against the law-abiding was no better than the communist oppressors.

Cap turned to Giant-Man knowing that the red garbed Avengers had more experiences with the post-Hitler overseas totalitarian threat.

"Yes," Giant-Man said. "But at least the communists openly deny the existence of God. Here, practicing racial injustice makes one a liar when he pledges allegiance to a country under God. Your "God" isn't real to you. He isn't the creator of all men—he's just a slogan.

Before he knew it, he was fighting back the impulse to erupt with verses from the book of Isaiah to support his arguments about professing faith upwards and practicing cruelty horizontally. A few scriptures escaped his lips, but giving full voice to the vestiges of his Plymouth Christian Brethren upbringing seemed phony. He had tossed his beliefs over his shoulder after the murder of his wife and he had no intentions of retrieving it.

The fall-out came days later after the media milked his indignation over racial injustice for all it was worth. To continue selling more papers, the Press ridiculed Giant-Man as a brainless, backwards Bible-thumper. He was amazed at how easily their resentment for anything religious stirred them up enough to forget the content of his words.

And now today, it looks like Giant-Man's comments may also have put the Avengers high on the Sons of the Serpents hit list.

Unlike most C.I.A. operatives who worked on cases as if the F.B.I. wasn't in existence, his sister, Yollie, always had a myriad of friends in the "the Bureau". Hank was determined to lean on one of those pals to get his hands on detailed info coming from the bomber. Henry had to know for sure if the man was involved with the SOTS.

* * *

She knew that she had thrown away her life. Booze and drugs in college had eaten away much of her reasoning, and in turn, torpedoed her ambition to be a medical surgeon. But the times were happy and perhaps, as the result of the eating away of brain cells, her life didn't seem so bad now. She was still attractive at 26. Life's deal was accepted— she understood that she was now one of those nameless, faceless "easy" dames that financially-secured men would remember out-of-the-blue, years into their middle ages… and just as quickly forgotten. She made her way from one guy —or rather, "wallet"– to another in securing her needs and wants. Some were even knock-out handsome. Still, there was a lull in the fishing season. That was why she was here in this dump with a bald, football—shaped dork.

Naked, except for her panties, the good-time-girl leaned her back against the bed's headboard. She took a swig of the cheap liqour bottle that made almost every environment appear to be a palace. She squinted at the back of this bald looser—this Elihas character— sitting on the other side of the mattress. He was talking on the bedside phone.

The first call, minutes ago, annoyed him. Apparently, Elihas was the type that couldn't let things go; he ranted a long while after he hung up on the guy named Wyngard. This time, with this caller, it was different. His rotund body was shaking the creaky bed with his excitement.

"I can't believe it," he cheered. "You actually got it. The blue prints."

Baldie was weird—big time. His body moved from side to side as the fingers in his free hand appeared to be plucking at an invisible bass fiddle. His laughter sounded more like a chicken with an asthmatic attack than chuckles. But, what the hey—she was there for one thing, and it wasn't for a life time commitment.

"I was really looking forward to the— the Cyclops creation that was— was driven into the A— Aegean."

Evidently the person on the other end got ticked off, because the looser nervously recanted. "But no, no. This is fine. The club, the whole Neanderthal look, at roughly 18 feet. Very good, I can work with that. You won't be disappointed."

"Let's get going," the woman complained.

Elihas brushed his hand in the air in a downward stroke, signaling her to be quiet.

"No, no, I'm alone. That was the TV."—he chuckled —"Do you really think I'd be with someone who sounds like that? Classless, really classless."

She kicked him in the middle of his back and he held back a yelp.

"Sorry. I have this chronic backache that hits me just before bed. ... Okay, see you tomorrow. You'll get to see the second part of my plan. I have to go. Thank you, thank you. Good-night."

He turned threateningly towards the woman who had just kicked him.

She said, with an alcohol-caused slur," Don't even think of hittin' me. You know I can kick you're ape sized a- s in a heartbeat."

He thought for a minute. She may have been right.

* * *

This Sunday night, a disillusioned Stark Industries employee cleaned out his desk. There was no need to turn on the air conditioner. Herman Shultz was taking the last of his things in anticipation of the answer to his third request for a substantial raise. He was sure that Tony Stark would say no again. That must've been why he had been avoiding Herman the last few days.

Finally with his belongings in his satchel, Herman started out of the office into the dimly lit hallway. The industrial plant was like a ghost town. Almost all workers were home resting for Monday. Only Security and Cleaners walked the campus. They were like scattered mice individually creeping around in the dim light looking for food crumbs, Herman thought.

Well, he was no longer going to be numbered among the rodents depending on scraps while Stark pigged out at the dinner table. He had his little project smuggled out of the company grounds small-piece-by-small-piece since Wednesday. Tonight, it would be reassembled at home and Herman Shultz will be traveling a new, independent road towards his deserved riches.

He only had to walk through the cavernous metal shop to make it to the near-vacant vacant parking lot. The tapping against the windows signaled the arrival of rain again. No problem— it was only a short distance from the door to his car, he thought.

Making his way around the motors and metal chassis of several projects, Herman heard something else— cheering. It was faint, but unmistakable. He looked towards the mechanics' lounge. A frosted glass paneling prevented anyone from looking into the lounge. Upon that glass, he saw a blue-white light. The cheer became a groan.

Someone was here? When Herman heard a familiar voice and moan, he knew who it was. Herman opened the door to see the big boss' chauffer sitting on a chair in front of the wall-mounted television with his face buried in his hands.

"Chino… you walked right into that one," Harold "Happy" Hogan lamented.

Schultz lifted his eyes from the t-shirted brute to the TV. Shultz saw a boxing referee move towards a fighter to then raise his hand in victory.

"Those were the days, Happy."

Hogan turned around to the sound of the voice. "Herm. Herm, you would-in-a believed it."

"Yes I would. That's how I turned my attention to science, remember? 14 years old, I was thinking that I had that fight at the Golden Gloves won. And I left myself open."

Happy stood up and gestured apologetically. "Herm, I'm still so sor—"

"Nah, My fault. When I saw that the fourteen-year-old roster was filled, I got a forgery expert to produce a birth certificate saying I was 16. All that because I wanted to impress a girl; a girl who ended up being impressed only by older guys with driver's permits."

Herman smiled at the crew cut square-jawed man. "It was your right cross that convinced me that no female was worth getting killed over. I turned back to my dorky ways and I became one on the nation's best scientist. Hey, you even hooked me up with Stark. What's to apologize for?"

"Wha'cha doing here on a Sunday?

"I should ask the same", Herman replied retaining his smile.

Happy turned half way and with one hand gestured towards the TV, said, "I don't have da connections ta gets Mexican Boxing, so I gets Chinese and come here every Sunday night."

How sad, Herman thought. This was the highlight of Happy's weekend.

"Ah yes," Herman said repressing his initial thoughts. "Three networks and a couple of local channels aren't enough for folks who need diversity. Will the mindless sheep, I mean public, ever get more than that?

"Did you ever"—Herman lifted one eyebrow—"think maybe if Stark can enjoy the best things in life why couldn't you? I mean, make enough money to have the proper instillation—Stark does own the satellite, correct? Why not be compensated rightly for your service?"

"Ya mean for drivin' him aroun'. He can get a monkey ta do dat. I'm lucky an' happy ta have what I got."

Shultz shook his head in pity as Happy sat down to watch the introduction of a second match. Hogan, the one-time contender, had received too many head blows, Herman thought. He'd never understand that he was under Stark's foot. None of the workers here understood.

Herman walked between the viewer and the screen. He extended his hand to say, "Well, good-bye Happy. It's been a pleasure."

Until that last word, Happy was moving his head this way and that around the man to see the TV. Now he just looked intently at his friend and demanded an explanation.

I'm finished here, " Herman smiled. "I'm going into business on my own."

"Yer kiddin'."

"No, I'm under-appreciated here. It's just like Abner Jenkins. Shame— he was a brilliant man. We both worked under Anton Vanko's tutelage. When he died, Stark didn't move Abbey up to take Anton's position. No, Stark pocketed the money he saved with Anton's death. No one was going to be Head of Development. That's why Abby put on that ridiculous Beetle suit and used his sophisticated ingenuity to commit crimes.

"Hey, I don't like how'd dat sounds. Foistly, da boss ain't a penny-pincher. Second, yer not blamin' da boss 'cause da joik went bad? And what about you an' yer new business? Yer not gonna do da same, are ya?"

"Poor simple, loyal, and blind Happy. A man has to look after himself. Stark won't do that for you nor I. As a matter of fact, he'd better watch himself. When I get a full head of steam, I'll run right over him. "

I don't know what dat means, but I don't like ungrateful folks who counts his chick'ns an' spit on da hands dat feed's 'em. Dat better not be a threat."

Herman found Happy's confusion over metaphors amusing. Still, the chauffer's temper could mean trouble for the newly liberated employee. He touched his right wrist, just under his shirt sleeve. He silently picked up his bag and turned towards the door. The thickly built chauffer reached out and tugged mightily on Herman's arm to turn the departing man around.

Something from under Herman's sleeve hummed and the air around his wrist appeared to become distorted like a small ripple in a pond. Suddenly Happy was forced back and he hit the wall with a thunderous bang. Happy was dazed and unable to get up, but he saw his one-time pal bring his finger to his mouth.

"Shhh. We don't want to arouse security. We can't have a sudden increase of widows and orphans. Stark would never go into his pocket to take care of them."

Herman then walked nonchalantly out of the door.

* * *

INSPIRATION: Tales to Astonish # 38, 45, 46; Amazing Spider-Man #46; Avengers 5; Marvel Universe Wiki: Cannonball, Husk


	4. Chapter 4 : More Chess Pieces

Chapter 4: More Chess Pieces Come To View

An National Airlines airplane lifted off from the Greenville, North Carolina airport. Among the passengers were a brother and a sister. The male sibling's frost-white hair belied the fact that he was only four months into his twentieth birthday. His body had the lean muscles of a swimming or running Olympic athlete. Possessing rough, but handsome features, his perpetual scowl would have led casual observers to believe that he had lived a hard life. Or maybe that he was just a grumpy jerk. At present, he had little regard for anyone's opinion. He only wanted to close eyes and rest.

His sister, 11 months his junior, sat quietly by the window. Her modest attire and reclusive demeanor made her inconspicuous; that was, until a stewardess had passed by their seat announcing to passengers that the 'BUCKLE YOUR SEATBELT" light was off. It was then that the stewardess, attractive in her own right, walked away feeling jealous after seeing the smile of the very lovely brunette. Unlike her brother, she had an easy coming smile. The fact that she could appear chipper now, even if they were heading home without their goal being met, testified to that. They had not found one of their own, as they were led to believe. They left behind a public performer who proved to be nothing more than that. She tried to put aside her disappointment with a _Women's Home Journal_ magazine. The frustration over a fruitless mission turned into a frustration over not having the lovely homes that were depicted in the periodical.

The plane was not twenty minutes in the air when the two sets of young ears picked up a scream that was followed by other shouts. In the front of the plane was a man standing in the aisle. He was dark haired, unshaven, but otherwise well attired. In his hand was a gun. He ordered a stewardess to go into the cockpit and tell the pilots to turn the plane south, and head to Cuba. If he made it to the Island, no one would get hurt. If they didn't comply, one passenger would be shot every five minutes throughout the period of their rebellion.

The brother turned to his worried sister and winked.

In Ukrainian, he said "You know the plan,"—The lovely woman narrowed her eyes, not following his words—"I make him move, you make something happen."

The brother was grateful that the passengers heeded the gunman's warning to stay in their seats. This gave the white haired youth a clear view of the man when the twenty-year-old leaned his head into the aisle. There was a bulge in the man's right pants pocket. Great— that had to be his wallet.

The unshaven terrorist turned to another stewardess on his left. Before he could issue another command, the gunman felt a sudden tug on his pants. He looked down. Finding nothing out of the norm, the man reasoned,_ Maybe it was just nerves._

Returning to his seat, the slender youth looked into a black wallet. In seconds he read the name of the gunman to his sister.

She began, "If you got that close to him, why didn't you just—"

"Shhh'" he said. Taking his finger away from his mouth, he smiled. "I don't want to hog the action. You need some entertainment also, don't you?"

Before she could reply, she found his seat occupied only by the wallet. He _magically_ reappeared four feet in front of the gunman. From the corner of the hijacker's eyes, he spotted a figure. He turned away from the stewardess and found the youth who had both hands up in a surrender gesture.

The older man gave a start and then the younger man spoke in English. "Ernesto Cordon. I know you. You don't want to do this."

"How do you know my name?"

The athletically-built youth walked backwards, ignoring his questions. "What about your family?" the youth asked. Then referring to the picture in the wallet that had three people sharing a hug, he continued, "What about your mother and your young sister?"

It was a gamble— he truly didn't know what relations the older woman and young girl had with the gunman. But the gamble proved fruitful.

"What do you know about them?" the hijacker asked angrily.

"You are scaring me, Ernesto. You really are."

The adrenaline of the hijacking and the sudden shock of his identity being exposed drowned out the voice of logic in the gunman's head. He began to walk towards the retreating man.

"Don't do this Ernesto" the young man repeated after receiving shouted orders to explain how he knew so much.

The attractive woman had moved to her brother's aisle seat, and just then pointed her finger at the hijacker. Suddenly, the man tripped over his own feet. A female passenger screamed. With the speed that defied the human eye to follow, the brother snatched the gun from the falling man. The dark haired man landed on his hands and knees. As he attempted to stand up, the swift hand of the youth brought the gun handle down on the hijacker's head with a thud.

Ernesto was on the floor, motionless. As the youth straightened his body once more, he felt his sister's hands on his shoulders. He turned around and smiled. Without returning his grin, the woman turned away to address the frightened passengers.

"It's alright, ladies and gentlemen. We're heading to New York, as planned."

The quiet cabin erupted with cheers and applause. The woman turned to her brother and they victoriously embraced. Suddenly they realized that the 30-second ovation had infused something into them. It was something that made their hearts flutter. Whatever it was, it fostered a need to know if the feeling was shared.

She moved her face away from his shoulder and asked, "Pietro?" He replied, "Wanda?"

* * *

Jan was still dressed as the Wasp. In the hallway leading to Lab B, she shouldered her civilian-attired boyfriend against the wall every few steps.

"That wasn't much of a clue, _Pym_-ple Brain. You're so mean."

Henry replied with a smile, "Listen, I've spent weeks to get your present right. It's something that, for the rest of your life, you'll be thanking me for."

_Why not turn up the charm meter_, she thought. "Whatever it is Hank, darling, it will never replace you. …. But what is it, anyway? Is it perfume, jewelry?"

"You'll find it more valuable than that."

"Okay, fur?" she asked. Hank shook his head and she continued. "Oh great— a new car?"

"You already have a new car and I don't want to talk about that."

Jan thought to herself, _wrong time to tick him off._ _Guess something else to get his mind away from sticking him with up to ¾ of the payment on that convertible Caddy._

But before she could open her mouth, they had reached Lab B. The sandy-haired man opened the door and stepped aside for her. Jan raced in and turned in every direction. Damn, whatever her present was, he hid it well. _Was there no mercy in this man?_

Hank walked towards the center table and reached for a small glass encasing that was placed upside down on a bakery cake stand. He lifted the stand up to her eye level and took off the glass cover. The stand, to her observation, apparently had nothing on it.

"Air? You gave me air? Thanks, there's so little of it—it must have been very expensive."

"Hush up, you little clown." Hank placed the stand back on the table. Using tweezers, he picked up something very small and then placed it on his left palm to present to her.

"This is it? The present you've been working on for weeks? — the Wasp strained to see the object and then opened her eyes in incredulity- "This little "Y" thingy? This is it?"

"Since the day you insisted on sharing my world, we both knew you were in danger. I surgically implanted artificial wings on your back as light as a feather, and as tough as Titanium. I thou—"

"How many weeks?" Jan interrupted, while pointing to his palm.

Hank sighed and then continued. "I thought that the wings would be sufficient. But I see now that they are exclusively for defensive purposes and –"

"And you thought if I see a two-hundred-pound muscle-man charging at me with a knife, I could throw this thing at him and what? I'd knock one of his dandruffs unconscious?"

"ANNND perhaps there might … Wait a minute! You can't knock out a dandruff flake. It isn't a living organiz— never mind. … Listen Jan, there might come a time when wings wouldn't be enough to get you out of a pinch."

"News flash: No one goes around _pinching_ Wasps. How many weeks you worked on this so that I'd feel thankful and flattered?"

"You know what I mean," he responded with his annoyance held back. "I believe a good defense is a great offence."

Jan squinted again and then asked, "So you gave me something smaller that a school girl's toy ring? Who am I fighting off with that?

Wait, I know. I tell the bad guy to look at this and I'll give him a thousand bucks if he tells me what it is. He goes blind, I conk him in the head with something, and"—she raised her arms triumphantly— "the Wasp is victorious again."

Jan leaned forward for a better look at the item in Hank's palm.

Hank continued, "Sooo… I'm giving you a potent weapon. It is a miniature air compression gun. And yes, it has straps that make it look like a child's ring."

"A 'Y' child's ring, to boot. Why not a "J"? - Jan's eye shot towards him and angrily put her fists on her hips— " Was this meant for the Russian brat and she refused it? Now you're giving it to me so your work wouldn't be a complete waste?"

Henry shook his head and grunted in frustration. "Stop that and pay attention. If you look carefully it actually resembles a Champaign Glass. The thin end is the weapon's nozzle. When you shrink to Wasp-size the elastic bands automatically slides up your forearm.

"Oh, it moves on me like a creepy-crawly insect. Just what every girl needs."

"It shouldn't bother a 'girl' who took the name _The Wasp_. There's a smaller elastic ring here."

He pointed back to the stand and said, "That is a head band. Now put the gun's elastic band on your right pinky and _START SHRINKING!"_

"Hey,_ I_ should be the one who's grouchy, you know." Notwithstanding, Jan decreased her size to her typical inch and a half stature.

"The air gun should fit snuggly; otherwise your aim would be compromised. Jan, go and put on the headband. You'll see that it had has a rounded viewer mounted on it. Keep it over your right eye.

Jan interrupted to ask if it was to see behind her to confirm that men were looking at her. Hank ignored the question.

"Jan, flip the viewer down over your eye and you'll see crosshairs. You now have the target-guide for your air compressor weapon.

"Now attached to the weapon are two cords with disks at the end. Place the disk with the longer cord on the end of your index and the other on your thumb. They should automatically stick to the material of your glove. When the disks make contact, the weapon fires. Quick contact— short blasts; long contact— sustained air release for about five seconds. With your free hand, you can press the button on the top of the air compressor. That determines degree of air strength. Untouched, you could slap away the face of a hungry cat. Pressed hard, you could kill a charging tiger. Got it? I also took the trouble to remove much of the recoil effect. Otherwise if you shot the air in one direction, you'll be hurled in the opposite direction."

Jan hovered by his right ear. "So many instructions. A fur coat or jewelry would have saved you a lot of tongue wagging, blue-eyes."

Hank gestured to the other side of the room. There was one desk placed against the wall. On the table were nine upright, hardcover books and three vases that belonged to the previous occupier of the penthouse. He told Jan that she could begin target practice.

"No wonder you didn't throw out that junk," she said. Jan then circled around his head. "But if I have to hit something, how about a thick chunk of granite sitting on shoulders, … having two ears, … lovely blue eyes and honey-gold hair on top."

The first two books on the left went down. Her smile gave evidence of her unexpected amusement. Three additional perfect shots later, she arrived at what she had called, _"_The ugliest vase in history." The Wasp drew closer, applied a gentle, sustained air push to force the unsightly thing against the wall. She flew back to her original position.

Henry began, "Ah, hon— I should have explained that there is one hitch I have to work out. After that long air release, the weapon needs 30 to 40 seconds to recharge.

"Let's see," Jan replied. She adjusted the air intensity. Then she joined her index and thumb. The ugly vase gave out a high pitched shriek as the singular porcelain formation shattered into tiny flying pieces.

"Guess I was wrong," Hank retorted.

"What else is new? I, again, have to cover your blunders."

She attempted to blast the neighboring book, but nothing came out.

"I guess that's one you don't have to cover," Henry said, redeeming himself. "Look, until I fix that, I prefer that you leave the air compressor in this room after every practice, okay, hon?"

"This is fun," Jan cheerfully admitted without acknowledging the request.

Hank's intention was to increase her confidence and actuate a decisive responsive strike when faced with an offensive threat. But he was glad that she also found it entertaining.

"This is a quicker remedy and it has more promise than the break-through I had with wasps."

Jan asked in a half-interested manner, "Wasps? Really? When did that happened?"

"I told you about it Friday. I told you that I adjusted the cybergentic frequency to infuse into wasps the urgency to assemble in different parts of the park. I also managed to convince them that a paper bag that the wind was blowing across the grass was an enemy.

Remember? I said that I preferred wasps over bees because after one attack the bees lose their stingers, whereas wasp can continue their onslaught. Unfortunately, I fear that they can turn on you. It will be a couple of weeks before I can bring them into complete submission."

Jan was looking around the room searchinging for items that she could use as targets. She shrugged without meeting his eyes and replied, I must have been watching **_The Farmer's_** **_Daughter_** or **_The Addams Family_** at the time. Sorry, Doll."

Hank was about to protest that she wasn't watching any TV when he revealed this, but alarms suddenly went off in his head. IT WASN'T JAN! He was sharing his achievement with Yolanda. The young intellectual was so much easier to talk to about his discoveries. If he could make such a mistake, that meant that Miss Vanko had endeared herself to him more than he realized. And his subconscious felt guilty that, at times, he could forget his troubles when she was around. He wisely backed off and went in another direction.

'I'm so impressed that you got the hang of this so quickly," Henry cheered. He then suggested that instead of waiting for the recharging, they go to eat. The thought of the food's preparer took away Jan's smile.

"You go ahead if you want to, Doll-face. I'll stay here practicing. I'll make something for myself later."

"Suit yourself, hon."

Henry walked away thinking,_ Just as well. _Who knows what would've happen if he pushed her into sitting with Yolanda.

A little more than a minute later, Jan had successfully knocked down the remaining books and vases. She jumped up to her human size and proceeded to set up the targets again. Then she decided to tour the laboratory room for other items that she could use for firing practice.

"Let's see. Let's see. What else can I use? Ah ha." Jan picked up the small waste paper basket. She could use that and the two empty soda cans inside of it. She got a few other items together. She felt proud of herself.

"Nothing escapes a smart gal on the prowl." After saying it, those words hit her like a sledge hammer to the head. _Smart gal:_ Yolanda was eating with Henry…. ALONE.

Remembering Hank's instruction to leave the small weapon in the room, Jan took off her headband. It snapped back to its tiny shape at the cost of a stinging pain to her thumb.

"Stupid thing," she said after a few cuss words. Then she gingerly took off her "ring." She placed both objects back under the glass encasement, and then ran out of the room. Jan was going to make sure that one particularly smart, prowling bitch wasn't going to get her hunk-a-bundle.

* * *

It was 8:57, Sunday night when a 1964 Lincoln Continental pulled into a driveway in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn. The down slope of the curb at the beginning of the driveway was meant for the angular turn of a smaller car. The rear tire always missed that slope and caused the car to jolt; not that Arthur Shapiro would give the car back to his generous brother-in-law, mind you. It was a great looking car.

Arthur's thin, small figure emerged from the driver's side and walked towards his front door. He thought that he had made an impression on Klaus Voorhees—The Cobra. But he was nervous about the setback earlier in the day. As the company lawyer, Arthur was supposed to secure an important chess piece for his employer's game.

With each step he took to reach the house, Arthur rehearsed what he would have to say to his employer—his brother-in-law—about the setback. _It was only temporary, _he repeated to himself. Yeah. Gregor Shapanka had too many things coming at him at one time. After a good night's sleep, Gregor would reconsider Arthur's proposal of employment.

This particular sought-after prize was the theft who called himself _Jack Frost_. After the death of his then-supervisor, Anton Vanko, Shapanka took the nearly-finished notes of the Head of Stark Industries Weapons Development, made a few additions, and created a weapon that could freeze anything in his path. Unfortunately, one of those things standing in front of Shapanka was his boss' bodyguard, Iron Man.

After being a model prisoner, Shapanka was approved for parole. He was released last Friday to come home to the Freeport, Long Island house that he had shared with his younger brother, Timothy. When he came home to garbage littering his yard, Timothy convinced Gregor that there was all a misunderstanding. What Timothy didn't explain was that the misunderstanding included his frequent delinquent payments to the private sanitation company that dealt with residential pick-ups. That _misunderstanding_ extended to the mortgage, as well.

Saturday morning Gregor checked his mail to find a notice of foreclosure. When Timothy wasn't forth coming about the question of the money in Gregor's bank account and stock holdings, he threw his younger brother out. The rest of the weekend, he was trying to milk out whatever money his brother left him in the bank to save his house.

That's why it was strange that today, Sunday, Arthur was the _**second**_person who Shapanka threw out of his house. As he put his key into the front door's lock, Arthur winced thinking about his employer's reaction to Shapanka. He was grateful to still be included in the man's family after his sister, Emily, died during child birth; but, if only the boss was more… understanding in nature.

Arthur called his employers' private line, fearfully. He was relieved to hear it continue to ring. Good— Arthur could use another hour, or so, to figure out how to soften the news of Shapanka's refusal. But just as he was about to hang up, the man answered the phone. Arthur's throat sudden became dry. A hoarse voice mixed with a frightened stutter wasn't appreciated by the man at the other end. He started to yell at Arthur, but suddenly he was interrupted and put his lawyer on hold.

The period of silence did wonders to calm the mousey little man. … Until his boss came back on the line.

After a few cuss words, the distracted brother-in-law said, "All right then, Harry, take the damn keys. Crash this car too. Just get the hell out of my face."

Arthur's nerves ignited again. Apparently, the man's son had already put him in a bad mood.

"Arthur, you there?"

What could he do? Arthur Shapiro explained the entire conversation with the prospective employee whom Arthur thought would jump at any employment opportunity. Perhaps Gregor Shapanka would be more receptive after a good night's sleep. Arthur would try again tomorrow.

"_**Tomorrow?"**_ the man roared back. "You dim-witted, worthless piece of shhh… Listen to me. Tomorrow he'll turn you down again. Don't you get it? Someone else had gotten to him before your slow, lazy ass did. No one in financial turmoil turns down a bundle of money; not unless he no longer _ISSS_ in turmoil!"

There was a few seconds of silence. Arthur could just picture the man running his hands through his short-cropped, very wavy red hair in silent anger. The man was probably asking himself why he retained Arthur as his company lawyer in the first place.

"Arthur," a cooler voice said.

The little man responded with a mousey "Yes?"

"Forget Shapanka. How about Voorhees?"

"He's thinking about it and it looks good. I gave him my card"

The voice rose again. "Looking good is not a guarantee, is it, Arthur?'

Shapiro agreed, repenting for his hope. His employer returned to a normal, albeit angered, tone.

"Listen up, you don't wait for him to call you. Seek him out tomorrow before lunch. But before that, you go on to the next name I gave you. And, unlike your inability to thoroughly convince Voorhees, this time tomorrow you had better not be telling me, _it looks good_. And unlike your inept attempt to reel in Shapanka, this time , for a certainty, you … _BETTER NOT FAIL ME!"_

The volatile man slammed the phone down. Tightening his lips together, he rubbed his temples without a sound. The walls of his luxurious den bounced the subsequent silence back to his ears. He looked around at the items neatly placed on his desk.

"Control, control" he breathed to himself in order to collect his composure. Again there was silence.

Then in a wild flurry, everything on his desk flew in every direction. But his hands weren't finished. He grabbed trophies from off the mantle, mounted pictures; anything that he could hurl against the wall shot out across the room.

Finally, he stood with his hands at his side. He was wild-eyed and hyperventilating. As his breathing became regular, he brushed back his red hair and calmly sat behind his desk. Over the intercom, he contacted his butler and graciously granted him and the three maids the rest of the night off.

His calm face hid behind his hands for four seconds. When his hands left his face, the wild eyes reappeared. He always had this thing for the number four. His industrial empire was built on four foundations: Energy, government defense contracts, pesticides and women's cosmetics. One was now gone. But he was still a successful man. And a successful man likes challenges. And stretching out his influence produces tests to his constitution. When the tests come in the guise of potential enemies, … those who stand in the way , they have to be put to rest… six feet under.

When the cosmetic branch faltered, he decided to look elsewhere for a fourth leg to his empire; Corporate and governmental thievery. Last month, he had partnered with three other men to accomplish a particular "hit." Not that the intended victim had ties to any institution, but his demise was seen as a test for him and the other three recruits. If they were successful, Stark Enterprise' bad-boy, Iron Man, was next. And then, with the Iron Man's electronic weaponry in his hand…

Unfortunately, the so-called "Enforcers" weren't equal to the task of eliminating Spider-Man. Now the rich man wanted to form a new foursome and Gregor Shapanka was to be an important member. But if Gregor didn't avail himself to the better fortunes that the buffoonish Arthur presented to him, then his invention would have to be taken away from him.

The crazed man walked towards his fireplace. He pushed a button hidden in an aperture on the side of the mantle. The fireplace moved aside to reveal an elevator.

"Jack Frost," the obsessed billionaire spat out of his mouth.

_A stupid name for a stupid man,_ he thought. But he didn't need the stupid man. He was going to personally steal the freezing weapon and leave a little message_ thanking _Shapanka for his cooperation. When it gets darker, the idiot will know what it means to anger Norman Osborn.

* * *

Inspiration: Tales of Suspense # 45; Tales To Astonish # 57.

Ernesto Cordon is an original character of this author.


	5. Chapter 5: After The Rains

Chapter 5: After the Rains

The summer storm was no lady. Her strong winds and hard rain forced the street stroller indoors. As darkness approached, she left behind her sister, drizzle, to see if the earthly inhabitants dared to leave the shelter of their homes. A small rumble from the clouds reminded little sister and ground-walking umbrella-carriers that big sister was still near.

Among the few brave ones who cared little for the return of the storm was the same tall thin man who had waited outside of the Avengers Mansion a few hours ago. The man walked through the lower regions of Manhattan, where look-alike residential Brownstones squeezed between themselves for a place in front of the sidewalk. Except for the base of the tall cement stairs leading to the main entrance, they weren't so bold as to extend the extra fourteen feet, or so, to reach the public pass way of pedestrians. On either side of the stairs, four-foot high metal fences kept passers-by from being too familiar with the structures.

In the middle of the block, the man stopped in front of one of the tenement buildings and he took a piece of paper out of his raincoat's pocket. His eyes followed the nine steps up to the front double doors. Above this entrance, on the frosted glass, the building's numbers boasted their gold color with the assistance of a hall light behind them.

He checked the address on the paper and had found it echoing the painted numbers .

Passingly accepting his discovery, he moved to the left of the steps and opened the metal gate. He went to the archway carved into the concrete wall that held up the stairs. Four steps down, and on his left he found the door that he was looking for.

His thin mustache followed the annoyed twitching of the lips below it. It disturbed the long faced man that he had to knock for a long time. He knew that this Elihas Starr fellow was in the dark apartment. The insistent man was determined to rouse Starr away from whatever was preoccupying him and come to the door.

From inside, the thin man heard distant cursing. Then in a clear voice he heard the apartment's resident snarled from behind the door.

"Who is it?"

"You know who," the visitor calmly responded. "I called you earlier to say that I was coming, don't tell me you forgot."

There were long seconds of silence. Then the pecking sounds of locks being disengaged trickled pass the wooden door. The door opened and a pudgy man with a peculiar shaped head peeked out. He was wearing a summer t-shirt that was two sizes too small. He squinted harshly behind his glasses and held a hand gun up to the slim man's face.

Elihas replied, "And I told you that I wasn't interested, don't tell me _YOU_ forgot. Now get—"

The rest of his words stopped before they reached his lips and seemed to fall backwards into his heart with a thud. Two men with submachine guns moved in behind the thin man and three similarly equipped men moved in to lend their support on the stranger's left.

When the five men pointed their weapons at Elihas Starr from around the first man, all of Elihas' bravado fled. The pudgy man lowered his gun, fearfully.

"Ah, that's a much friendlier way to answer the door, Mr. Starr," the visitor smiled. He stood there for a few of seconds watching the rotund man's blood drain from his face.

_What an odd structured_ _fellow,_ the thin faced man thought. The underdressed man's body resembled a watermelon. This was, no doubt, accented by his apparently neck-less, head. It was broad at his jaw lines and smaller at the top of his bald head. No wonder this man— this Dr. Elihas Starr— was referred to in the newspapers as _the Egghead._

The slim man chuckled at the name. Elihas became increasingly nervous thinking that he was laughing at the thought of rubbing him out. Elihas surrendered his grip on the gun and the weapon his the carpeted floor with a muffled _thud._ The apartment-dweller's hands met together in a praying fashion.

When he squealed for mercy, the visitor replied, "In exchange for your cooperation, I see no reason why your fear would come to pass, Mr. Starr."

This "Egghead" was a genius, and clearly an underachiever. Such a brilliant man; a couple of years ago he was threatened with imprisonment because he stole scientific government documents that was drafted by a fellow named Pym. With his potential, why did he have to steal those confidential papers? Why not take advantage of his own intelligence and perfect his own experiments which he could then sell to the highest bidder?

"_Pleeease._ I don't want any trouble," Elihas again pleaded in a high pitched tone.

_How lowly; sickening_, the slim man thought of his plea.

"No trouble will be forced upon you, Mr. Starr. As a matter of fact, I predict that you will never hear from me again. I was asked to come and interview you. I was to ascertain if you were one of us. I don't need to bother, really. Even if you were, you are clearly and absolutely unworthy. Obviously, a coward, such as yourself, … and one who performs so drastically beneath expectation— again, such as yourself—would be more of a cumbersome dead weight than a co-contributing factor to the upcoming revolution.

The stranger closed his eyes, and heaved an exacerbated sigh. He opened his eyes a part of the way and tilted his head up to reflect his disregard for the inferior find.

"You may close the door now, Mr. Starr. Good night and farewell."

Starr's eye jetted from side to side, looking into the eyes of the men as they put away their guns. Elihas' heart raced as he quickly closed the door.

With his body still shaking from terror, he asked himself, _What did the man mean by "farewell?"_ He then quickly jumped away from the door. His imagination screamed with the fearful anticipation that those men would shoot right through the door, killing him in a twisted exhibition of humor. He jumped on his middle-drooping couch and covered his face with the dirty the sofa pillows. Seconds later, the silence of the room rebuked his cowardice.

Hearing nothing above his heart's mad pounding, Elihas figured that they had left. He remained quiet for another minute. The distant sound of car tires moving along the wet street emboldened him. He peeked through the venetian blinds of the window situated to the right of the door. He sighed in relief; no one was there.

The Egghead quickly turned the knobs on the front door's locks and raced back to his bedroom. He reached for the bottle of gin on his night stand. Bringing it up to his lips, Elihas' oddly shaped form dropped down to sit on his bed. The subsequent disturbance of the bed brought a sleepy groan from the other side of the mattress. Suddenly an angry, but slurred female voice rang out.

"Hey, don't drink it all. Use a glass and save some for me."

He turned to the young woman and raised a threatening left arm as if preparing to use a backhanded slap on the wailer. "Shut up bitch. My booze, my money, my bed. Remember that."

He didn't need to add to that declaration. He turned his back to her and brought the bottle again to his mouth. Elihas tilted his head back to pour into himself renewed courage. He bravely pushed the drunken, small-statured woman away from his side of the bed so that he could lie down.

* * *

Whisked away at this speed, Jan wasn't sure that she would have an arm left.

"Let go, you big gorilla," she charged.

Henry hustled Jan down the white-walled hallway and into the equally bland guest room. He closed the door behind them with a slam.

"What is wrong with you?" she yelled.

"Right question, wrong direction," he yelled back. "I should be asking you that."

"What do you mean?" she asked while rubbing her arm theatrically.

"You know full well," he replied, referring to her behavior in the dining room. But with each word, his volume descended. He felt guilty knowing that this animosity between the two lab assistants was fueled by his words last week. "You're being cruel to Yolanda again. You've been baiting her since we got here."

Jan raised her chin as a sign of indignation over a slanderous accusation. "Simple questions of concern, that's all. I just asked her if she wanted a phone number to a diet center.

"Cute. That's calling her fat in round-about way. And that remark about getting sun without peeling like a banana?"

"I was just suggesting that she get some color. I also thought, from my experience, that people with light complexion could get sun burn easily.

"Oh? You weren't implying that she didn't look healthy and she never will? … And if you had to tell her about changing her hairstyle, was it necessary to compare her to a mop?"

Jan said, "Just passing on beauty pointers." Failing to suppress a smile, Jan turned her back to him. She picked up an old photo from the night stand that Erica Collingsworth left on her last stay. Eight-year-old Henry seemed so happy pressing his cheek against his pre-teen sister. Obviously, even Erica had at one time needed guidance from an older female— she had too much make-up on.

Turning around to him, she added, "I'm sure when some acne-face, nose-running, cross-eyed young man with buck teeth asks her out, he'd like her to, at least, rise to _his _level of attractiveness."

_Well, Jan, girl,_ she said to herself, _that last remark ruined your chance to sound innocent. Time to change the focus, here._

Jan tried to recover, but Henry didn't hear her. He was trying to figure out a way to defend young Miss Vanko's appearance without further fanning Jan's jealous flames.

What was wrong with Yolanda, anyway? She was different from Jan, but far from homely. Jan had short wavy brown, easily style-able hair. Yollie carried a more challenging, straight platinum blonde hair of shoulder length. Jan had called it lifeless. Jan also took swipes at her weight. True, Jan's hips and thighs were thinner, but Yollie's waist wasn't that far from Jan's measurement. It wasn't a strict comparison of skinny verses overweight. It was simply a characteristically healthy American-Dutch female body type trying to impose her notions of proper body proportions onto a typically healthy Northern Russian physique. Two other striking differences were evident when comparing the first woman's charming, wide brown eyes and fuller brown eyebrows against Yollie's alluring, almond-shaped ice-blue eyes and thinner light-colored eye brows. Why does only one type have to viewed as attractive? Both were lovely for different reasons.

Turning it around, he thought, Jan needed help to fill her "C" bra cup. Yet that was never marginalized by the young woman who he guessed aptly filled an "F" cup.

Henry had to shake his head to return to his logistical mind-stream. The visualization of her breast behind her blouse seemed to beg comparison with Reed Richard's equally endowed love-interest, Sue Storm. Being reminded of Sue brought back those classless, vile reviews of her features coming from Iron Man when Hank and the armored Avengers were alone. Now his sister made sure that Henry's upbringing reflected the upright Christian faith after their parents died. Although lustful thoughts had made frequent visits to a mind trying to walk the straight- and-narrow, Stark's unembarrassed, salacious verbalization of those thoughts seemed crass and slimy. If he felt uncomfortable with his Avengers-partner's lewdness concerning the twenty-something Fantastic Four beauty, he felt worst now about his current thoughts. Henry could not prey them away from the physique of the nineteen-year-old Yolanda.

"Hello, Earth to Hank."

"Yes, yes. I was just think about… " He stopped. Hank was relieved when Jan misinterpreted the silence. His girlfriend declared loudly that he could forget about forcing her to apologize to the younger woman again.

"Jan," he quietly said. "Her mother was sent to a work camp because she worshipping an outlawed God. She felt abandoned by her father who was taken to Moscow to work on military plans. The fact that he didn't rebel against the government that took her mother away, created a great resentment…

"Her bitterness towards Anton exploded into volcanic proportion when neighbors who were — in commie lingo— 'rehabilitated' finally came home and told Yolanda that her mother died because they would not treat her pneumonia.

"She comes here leaving all she knows behind her, full of hatred for her father. And when things were finally getting worked out between them, she loses him in a fight against a second Crimson Dynamo. Don't you feel anything for the poor girl?"

"Of course, I do. I'm not made of stone," Jan said indignantly. "…But I also know that a girl who has lost so much will look to a man to be her father figure. And that usually leads to something else. And you, my Hunk-a-bunch, are too damned fatherly and good-looking."

"Fine then," he said in frustration. "Let's just get to Lab B and continue your target practice."

_Oh no, this wasn't going to finish in a draw_, Jan decided. Knowing the best way to keep your man off balance is by giving off signals of indifference, she flicked her hand upwards at Hank. This was meant to shoo him away from her. She'd make her way to the room, but Jan was determined to make an unnecessary detour through the kitchen to show her dispassion for Henry.

The solitary walk to Lab B surprisingly brought Henry face-to-face with Yolanda. He looked down to find her holding a sunglow gold-colored helmet. She acted as if the uncomfortable conversation over supper hadn't happen. Henry admired the upbeat disposition of Ms. Vanko – it was so infectious.

"I was so inspired by your latest invention," she said. Her head moved from side to side. Ordinarily it was a sign for 'no." But this time it depicted the great admiration that she felt over his invention— the air compression gun.

The subject had come up earlier in the supper conversation. It was wonderful how this young woman could filter out negativity and remember only the good. In a mutual sense of esteem, Yolanda and Henry looked into each other's smiling faces. Hank suddenly thought it was best to break the silence.

"What do you have there?" Henry asked as he gestured to the helmet.

Yolanda looked down as if she had momentarily forgotten what she held. Like a school girl bringing home a prized science project, she brought the helmet close to her chest.

"My father was a great inventor, as you know. Ah, … you do know about your former friend, Bruno Horgan. You know that he was a weapons and munitions supplier to the government. Then safety inspections forced his company to close down. You know how he was supposedly the inventor of the focused microwave-beam that melted metals.

Tilting her head from side to side, she continued with an unimpressed look on her face.

"Lacking any originality, he became the villain who called himself the Melter. What you didn't know was that the KGB allowed that particular technology to be – I'll say— borrowed from my father's old models. In return, this Melter- buffoon was sabotage the US's biggest arms manufacturer, Stark Industry."

The young woman continued with a small smile, "And then there was this mysterious Cerebro project that he was working on for a private financier to locate mutant."

This was the first time he had heard her talk glowingly about her father. He enjoyed it just as much as she did.

"I know the man who is this mysterious financier," Henry interjected as they began walking the hallway together. "We'll just call him _Charles._ He's a good man who was introduced to me by Tony Stark. I can guarantee his use of Cerebro will be for mankind's good.

"That is wonderful to hear," she said with broad smile and a nod. "You already know of the darker intention of the Crimson Dynamo armor, and the uncompleted Unicorn war-gear before my father defected. So I welcome any news of greater good that his work has ushered in."

Hank returned the nod with sympathetic eyes. They locked eyes again for a moment, as if they were in a sweet and ethereal hug. He self-consciously turned and made Yolanda's mind engage itself again.

"My father's blueprints for the Unicorn were in his head. Evidently, he knew that the communist leaders were not to be trusted. If the Kremlin had any of his projects' physical blueprints then they wouldn't need to show him any favor— such as allowing him to walk around freely. He would have been locked up like the others and taken out when they needed him. But while in America, my father wrote down many things for me."

Hank knew that. Anton struggled with his ineptness in exhibiting emotions and this was his way of telling his child that she was more than special. She was his very reason for living.

"This is the Unicorn helmet. The first designed helmet looked like it had a tiny nuclear reactor on the top of the head gear. It was used by Milos Masaryk in hunting down my father. I have the latest."—she stretched out the leaner, modified head gear towards Hank—"I worked hard on this project. The blast from the helmet is just as focused, but now I increased varying degrees of impact. And I reviewed the Unicorn uniform that was to match the Crimson Dynamo in strength. It was roughly projected to equal the strength of 2.2 bulldozers. My revisions have streamlined the bulky armor and increased that strength by two and a half time. "

"Wow," he replied with wide eyes. "You are every bit— _no smarter_ than your father."

Yolanda peaked her shoulders, leaned forward, and her eyes sparked as she giggled in gratitude.

Hank inwardly remembered: _Poor kid— her mother, father, homeland gone. _She was soaking up his appreciation like a sponge; seeing as he felt like her surrogate father, he was more than happy to express his pride and encouragement.

Henry then proposed a _bet_ that Iron Man would not be victorious over her Unicorn version, as he was over Masaryk's model. Suddenly they found themselves talking about titanium rods following and supporting bone structure. They exchanged ideas over powerful pulleys imitating human joint movements. They were having a grand time, and then Yollie surprised him with a request.

"You want to see my air-compression gun?" Henry asked, repeating the appeal back to her. "Compared to what you've done, it isn't even worth mentioning."

"No, no. My project is at least a week away from being realized. You, on the other hand, have a completed weapon. Small enough to conceal, lethal, and, incredibly, you have solved the recoil dilemma for someone as small as the Wasp. That is no insignificant invention and I'll not have you debasing yourself. You are a fantastic scientist, Henry Steven Pym. And don't you ever doubt that."

Their eyes held each other captive once more. Then Henry noticed that they were standing in front of Laboratory B. With a wide smile, he opened the door and ushered her inside. Yolanda's eyes lit up when he placed the small weapon in her hand. Henry began to explain the mechanics behind it when Yollie interrupted.

"No, our rule is a minimal of ten minutes of Spanish a day. Talk to me as if I just got off a plane from Madrid."

Henry laughed, admitting for the umpteenth time that idioms were his weakness. But the patient young woman helped him along and they chatted away.

The door to the lab was wide open and as she approached, Jan heard laughter. She quickened her pace towards the room, wanting to investigate, or rather, catch them in an act that she imagined was taking place. Upon reaching the door, Jan saw that it was altogether innocent… or by her rationale, she got there before it could turn into something more.

Yolanda and Hank noticed her standing at the doorway. Jan walked over to Yollie and presented her open hand in a non-verbal demand to surrender the tiny gun. The cold stares made the whole room frosty. Henry began to say something, but Jan held her other hand up to his face with another silent command— _shut up._

"I need to go," Yolanda said as she reached over Jan's right hand. She dropped it onto Jan's palm as if she feared that Jan had leprosy. Jan quickly closed her fingers around the invention and brought the right hand away from Yolanda and to her left shoulder. It had all the audaciousness of someone retrieving a stolen item from a thief.

Yolanda refused to show a reaction.

"Jan," Henry began.

"It's okay, Henry," the young woman said. "I don't wish to be the reason for another argument. Good night."

_Smart girl,_ Jan thought.

* * *

Moving to Florida to stay with her youngest daughter was good for Mrs. Shapiro. But it meant a lot of frozen dinners for her son, Arthur. Tonight, he sat in front of the kitchen table looking at his meal. It wasn't the re-heated processed food that robbed him of his appetite. It was the fear of the response to the phone call he made to Frank Sheppard, minutes ago. The call had to do with the next person on the list given to Arthur by Norman Osborn.

The narrow shouldered lawyer couldn't arrange for a stay of Dr. Chen Lu's deportation back to the People's Republic of China. But as the head of the I.N.S. team that was bringing Dr. Lu to the airport Monday morning, could Sheppard bring about a _prisoner escape?_ It all depended on the other three officers. Was the money that Arthur offered them enough to risk their careers? Would they have confidence in the planned cover-up?

Arthur looked at his plate of Turkey slices and green beans. But it was the lumpy mashed potatoes that made him envision what his brother-in-law would do to him if he could not pull this off. He was startled by the gun fight coming from the small black-and-white television on the kitchen counter. Damn it, he wasn't in the mood to see the Cartwright Brothers shooting up bad guys. That also reminded him of other possibilities that he'd faced if Norman didn't get his men.

When did the show, _Bonanza_, start, anyway? It seemed like a second ago that Dinah Shore was singing about seeing the U.S.A. in a Chevrolet.

Arthur shut off the TV. He looked at his plate as if he was looking into the future. He was jolted again; this time by the ringing of the wall-mounted kitchen phone. Arthur lounged for it. He fumbled the receiver twice until his hands finally had control of it.

After a deep swallow, Arthur said _hello_. It was Frank Sheppard. Behind another deep swallow Arthur asked, "… And?"

Sheppard responded. As if he received a ticket to Nirvana, Arthur broke out into a big smile, looked up to the ceiling, and almost cried.

* * *

Jan was putting back into place the targets that she had downed for the fourth time. She glanced at Henry sitting to the side. He was looking through his papers to rectify the problem of a half-minute recharge for the Air Compressor gun. Jan grumbled.

Jan said, "The clouds have rolled back so that there's a full moon in the sky. The temperature has cooled to a comfortable level. Outside there is the sweet scent of honeysuckle. And while others are strolling hand and hand with their boyfriends, I'm in here playing Annie Oakley."

Henry looked up to respond, "There will be other nights with comfortable weather and full moons. And last I checked neither the honeysuckles in the north terrace nor the lilacs over at the south side could sprout legs and run away.

"Serves me right," she sighed. "I should be dating someone like Cary Grant, instead of you. "

"It's hard, very hard to see Cary Grant coming up with my credentials."

Jan put her hand on her hips and moved them subtly from side to side. "Yeah, but Cary Grant would come up very hard when he saw _my _credentials."

Henry winced in disgust. "Do you have to be so… so like Tony Stark?"

"Well, at least he has his head in the right direction. … Both of them."

Henry got up and began to walk out of the room. Jan laughed and began to apologize. When he would not stop, Jan reached out for his arm. Hank pulled it away from her hand.

"I don't know what you and Stark talk about when I'm in the exercise room, but when you talk to me try to at least pretend that you have some class."

Henry had enough sense to end that sentence right there. There would have been terrible consequences if he had added "Pretend you're as much of a lady as Yolanda."

Still, his self-control with words didn't extend to his control over his facial expression. Jan was taken aback by the anger that she saw in Hank. The door slammed behind him. Jan was left there with her other targets that, unlike Hank, had no reaction to her bawdiness. She sighed; they were a lot simpler to deal with.

* * *

Peter Parker vacuumed the entire down stairs of the Forest Hills, Queens home that he shared with his beloved Aunt May. After putting the appliance back into the closet, his powerful legs nearly flew him up the stairs. The radioactive spider bite gave him emormous strength, but it was nearly two years of self-taught stealth that enabled him to muffle the sound of his feet hitting the steps.

Peter stilled himself outside of Aunt May's door. His enhanced hearing made out the slow, steady breathing that came when his Aunt was asleep. And why not? After Bonanza, there wasn't much to watch on TV. For the most part, TV offered boring dramas, unfunny comedy, and the same re-run of _Candid Camera_ that ran last week. _Boy,_ Peter thought_, those TV execs get great money for screwing up. Where can I enlist for that type of job?_

Peter walked to his room and reached under his bed. He pulled out a box. In the box was something that caused him to scratch his head in puzzlement when he first saw it, but now it was one of his prize possessions.

Last year, his Junior year in Mid-town High, acclaimed biologist Henry Pym came to his school to announce the first city-wide _Pym College_ _Scholarship_ awarded to the student who excelled in Science. He would finance the first two year's college tuition, books and living expenses to the student who ranked highest in the city. Though Peter had a year to go, his scores were still better than any High School Senior.

In addition, Dr. Pym brought with him another prize. It was a headset radio that the inventor had patented. Before it went to market, he was giving it to the excelling student. When he handed it to Peter, he whispered that, in addition to music stations, it could also pick up Police calls from nearly all of the city's precincts. It was supposedly a way to entertain himself while doing homework. It actually alerted Spider-man about trouble spots quicker.

It was a June weekend and the homework assignments were mainly reviews for upcoming tests. Peter didn't need to study what he passed easily the first time. Besides, listening to the headset temporarily took his mind off of his problems.

His girl, Betty Brant, thought that Peter is interested in fellow Mid-Town High School attendee, Liz Allen. If this was last September, she'd be correct. But Peter's heart was now wrapped around Betty. But the brunette wasn't convinced that _her gentleman didn't prefer blondes._

In adddition, was the constant hustle to scrap up money for the mortgage and the utilities. He was close to deciding to go to Dr. Pym and see if he could "cash-out" the scholarship. He and Aunt May needed money TODAY. He'd worry about college when the time came— some school was sure to have a science scholarship.

After tuning in and out of different precincts, Peter thought it was going to be a quiet night. Then he heard about a man who was standing on a high ledge of a Manhattan building. This man was threatening to jump.

Well, it wasn't crime-fighting, but it was still a job for Spider-man. The photos that he'd take to the _Daily Bugle_ would also widen Editor J. Jonah Jameson's tight wallet a bit. It would also prevent the skin-flint from making good on the latest threat to fire Peter over an assignment flop.

In minutes, the red-and-blue swinging figure sliced through the damp night towards the building. News trucks were getting to the locale seconds after Spider-man. He shot his web onto a neighboring edifice in order to _Tarzan_ his way to the scene. On top of the roof of the building opposite the potential suicide jumper, Peter finally saw the man on a corner ledge. He was sixteen floors above the sidewalk. Police and plainclothesmen were halfway out of the two adjacent windows trying to coax the man back into the room where they stood.

The tin-haired, well-attired man's threats to jump had kept them at bay. But certainly the web-slinger could wrap his web around the guy and safely lower him to the ground. The young hero placed the headphones on the roof floor. He then used his webbing to cover it and keep it in place. Who knows what type of whackos climbs on roofs at night? They weren't getting his stuff.

Spider-man quickly crawled down the face of the building. He detached his thin camera from his belt buckle, and set the camera's timer. Again using his web, he secured the back of it against the building's wall. His next web-swing allowed him to land on the building's ledge above the jumper. But overconfidence is something that can come too easy to an accomplished adventurer.

In a dire situation such as this, Spider-man usually landed on a structure with his feet already running. All this day, spotty rain showers had called upon the city. His footing wasn't secure on the wet ledge and one foot slipped out from under him. He fell earthward, but he quickly managed to grab the ledge and found himself dangling off of the ledge just three feet away from the man he had intended to save.

But embarrassment in front of the News cameras was the least of his problem. Spider-man looked up and to his left. In the hand of the man who threatened to jump was a .38 caliber gun. It was aimed point-blank at the hero's head.


	6. Chapter 6: We'll See

It was the Chelsea section of Manhattan. The police ascertained the name of the suicide jumper. From adjacent windows officers pleaded with _Ted _to lower the gun that he had pointing at Spider-man's head. Ignoring them, the gunman looked down at the masked adventurer who dangled by one hand from same ledge that he stood upon. The increasing wind combed the well-attired man's short salt and pepper hair to the right. His upper lip was almost nonexistent, but the right side of his that lip rose up to express disgust. Wrinkles of anger formed between his lightly haired eyebrows. Despite the police's prompting, the pistol aimed at Spider-man moved upward to now line up with the man's eye. THIS IS IT, Spider-man said to himself.

The young hero opened the palm of his free hand to gain a reprise from the man's intention.

"Hold on, hold on, pal. Believe it or not, I'm here just to see if you wanted to buy some cookies."

Ted's face expressed surprise and Spider-man knew that he was just gifted an extra few seconds to figure out how to handle this loony-tune.

"Yeah, really," the hero said from below the man. "I mean cops get paid to fight crime, but me… : pffft :

Now it was the police who were caught speechless. Spider-man then raised himself up and leaned forward. This allowed him to fold his hands and support himself on his forearms.

He continued, "So I started a business and y'know, those Girl Scouts are a mean little bunch. They're always pushing me off my corner whenever I open shop to sell Spidey-Cookies. So instead of getting beaten up, I now go door-to-door. And once I saw you out here taking a nice night stroll, I said to myself, 'Now there's a fine fellow who'd appreciate—' "

"SHADDUP!" the man yelled. "Get outta here while you're still alive."

"Okay, okay, pal. On closer look, you don't look like the Gingersnap or Chocolate Chip type anyway."

Spider-man let go and dropped out of sight. Having the proportionate strength of a spider, he landed without harm on the ledge below the man. Having the ability to jump 70 feet at a time, and the quickness that matched a cheetah, Spider-man leaped a good distance to his left. Then he jumped up to the ledge above the gunman. There he saw two cops leaning halfway out of a window directly below the jumper. Spider-man launched himself forward to stand a foot away from the window. Even though he cautioned himself to stop a nanosecond after each leap (he didn't want to repeat the embarrassment of slipping on the water-slick surface) he still accomplished this feat in less than three seconds.

The two officers had to restrain their gasp at the sudden, unexpected appearance of Spider-man by their side.

"Sorry guys," the youth said.

The proposed jumper looked down to see if the hero had fallen to his death. Ted had leaned forward to give Spider-man a good view of his target. Balancing himself, the man had brought both hands to the sides of his hips. Instantly, Spider-man's gloves shot webbings to trap the gun hand and the other hand against the man's sides. The surprise made the Ted jump backwards and press himself against the building's wall.

The powerful youth dropped down beside the man saying, "On second thought, do you like Oatmeal Raisins?"

""You're not Giant-Man, " Ted growled.

"Sorry to disappoint you, bub. But look at the brighter side. You didn't waste a shot on me. …. Say, why are you so anxious to bury bullets into Mr. Mountain-top, anyway?"

The man angrily leaned forward. Spider-man used one powerful hand to force him back against the structure. The hero heard the commotion coming from the sides. The police were mounting the ledge.

The enraged man yelled, "I'll see you and Giant-Man hung from trees along side of your n - - - er friends."

The offensive reference to Negros caused Spider-man to react instinctively— he glued the man's lips shut with a web.

"That's enough," Spider-man said. "Any more verbal diarrhea from you and I might be tempted to kick you off the ledge, myself."

An officer with a thick cloth-like vest came behind the vulgar man. He wrapped Ted in a similar harness. As two ropes with hooks were lowered from above them, Spider-man pulled the gun down and away from Ted's hand and offered the weapon to the officer. The hooks were attached to the two harnesses and the man was escorted to the nearest window.

"Don't try to take the webbing off," Spider-man called out. "It will vaporize in less than 25 minutes."

A hand touched the youth's shoulder. He turned around to see an older policeman. This officer had a tired, remorseful look on his face. That meant one thing. Those damned Daily Bugle Editorials have had aninfluence on this officer. He was conflicted, but Spider-man wasn't sticking around to see if the officer would give him a break or try to arrest him. Actually, Peter became the break-giver here.

"Sorry, there,"—the youth looked at the officer's shoulder-"Sergeant. ….. My Spider-senses picked up a distress call and I have to see if it's real, or a false alarm."

His "senses" could do no such thing; it could only warn him of immediate danger to his person. But the policeman didn't need to know. With a shot of his web and a leap into the air, Spider-man made it to the building across the street. He retrieved his camera and streaked up the building.

Once out of sight he looked at his camera. Peter was sure that he was about to get back into J. Jonah Jameson's small sphere of graces—very, very small. He was a sure of it, … until he put his headphones on and heard the police bulletin.

"Aww, man. Now that this is happening, Jameson may not even look at the shots I took here. I have to make it to the 59th Street Bridge. "

Remembering that he was in Chelsea, and he faced a long northeast trek to the Upper Eastside , he reasoned, "We'll see if I can get there on time."

She had asked her mother if she could get out of bed to drink water. Had Lucinda Guthrie followed her daughter, she'd had known the real reason why Paige got up. But for now, Paige had to tend to the water-gathering excuse.

Paige's little hands turned off the kitchen faucet and lighted off the stool. In the past she had made the mistake of getting off the stool with the glass in her hand. But uh-uh— not now. A smart girl learns from her mistakes. .. and both Momma and Sam said she was a smart girl. If the floor was thirsty, it would have to wait for _mopping _day, yes, ma'am.

Paige reached over to slide the water glass to the edge closest to her. It was great that now she didn't have to be on her tippy-toes to see the top of the kitchen counter. A smart, tall mommy is what Holly needed, and as sure as the world's happiest laugh belongs to a round-belled puppy walking on grass, that's what Holly had.

Coming back to bed, the girl hugged the glass against her body. It was time to address the real reason that she left the main bedroom. Paige's room was Poppa's bedroom tonight. With her free hand Paige quietly opened the door to the room where the man she loved was blanketed in darkness. She barely made out his figure on the bed but, … yep, those were Poppa's feet hanging off the end of the mattress. The girl didn't have to stay still for long. She heard it—that wonderful snore that reassured Page that her Poppa was all right.

Like a turkey walking among vegetarians on Thanksgiving, a world's load of worry dropped off of her. She was then relaxed enough to smile and remember Sam's line when he, Momma, and Paige carried Poppa into the room.

Sam remarked, "He's bigg'r 'an you'n, but Ah ra-der carry him den you'n, girl."

"Good night, Poppa," she whispered. She threw a kiss into the room knowing that the darkness would be kind enough to deliver it. It would have been better if she kissed his forehead, but Paige knew that she was unprepared if he woke up. Besides, if her lips enabled her to perceive that the bruise on Poppa's head got bigger, she wouldn't be as peaceful.

The moonlight guided her little bare feet down the hallway, back to the main bedroom. The silver light dusted off some darkness from Momma's face. Paige knew that Momma would have one open eye waiting for her. Momma's reassuring smile proved Paige was right.

Momma was on her back and Holly's red air flopped over Momma's right arm. But when Paige entered, Lucinda went on her side to face her daughter.

She whispered with a smile, "B'ought some wa-da, fo' yo-in and Holly, Momma,"

Momma whispered back that she was okay. But the water should be placed on the night stand in the event that Paige and Holly needed it later. The small, curly-haired benefactor took the glass from her chest and placed it on the wobbly, worn stand. On the other side of her mother, sleepy Samuel moaned-out something, or other about the bed.

Paige climbed onto the matress. She didn't lie down immediately. She kneeled in front of her baby.

"How was she?" Paige asked while her eyes were fixed on Holly.

"Oh she was brave, while yah-in waz gone, " Momma whispered. "She did miss yah, though. She asked a couple-a- times when mommy would be back."

Paige smiled and brushed Holly's hair. "Well, Ah'm he-ah now, da-lin'. Ah'm so p'oud yah-in waz good fo' g'an'ma."

"An' why shouldn' she?" Lucinda Guthrie inquired about her _grandchild._ "She has a good mommy to teach ha. An' she gots ha mommy's upbeat personal'ty."

Lucinda traced the painted smile on the doll's face. "She's always happy."

Paige took on a serious face and looked at her mother. The girl nodded as she said, "Ah'm sure lucky ta have such a young'in."

Lucinda recognized the familiar words and motions that now came from the younger Guthrie woman. Fighting back laughter, the proud mother said, "Ah always says da same things abou' mah two babes."

Momma puckered up and that was the signal for Paige to lean her forehead in for a momma-smooch. The girl then laid down on her side of the bed. This left Holly in the protective sandwich between the two strong Guthrie women.

As Paige followed Holly's example in using Momma's arm as a pillow, she heard Samuel say in a clearer horsed moan, "Heard me Ma? Yah needs … ta sssset de alarm … ta get Paige onnnn the potty. … Don't wanna waaake up alllll wet."

The little girl frowned. She raised her head to look over her mother and at the back of Sam's head.

"Bet'cha when you'n wake, my side is dry … Yah side'll look like a lake."

Momma hushed the girl while fighting back another laugh. Samuel turned around with his eyes still closed. He rested his head on his mother's shoulder. Sam was losing his battle to keep his weak smile. His right arm reached over Momma's tummy.

"We'lllll ssssee," he said before accepting his defeat at the hands of sleep.

Over on Paige's side of Momma, the girl tenderly held Sam's hand, allowing her forearm to rest on Holly. Holly needed some contact with her mommy to be able to fall asleep, you know. Lucinda Guthrie pulled her children closer to her. In a world of bad and good times, this was certainly better than good.

Paige knew that her own smile would soon lose the same battle that her brother had waged. What could she do? She just took a deep breath and sighed, "Yeah. We'll sssseeeee….."

A half hour before Spider-man encountered the supposed suicide jumper, Henry Pym received a call from his sister. He sat on one of the breakfast nook stools as he stretched the long twirling cord from the wall mounted phone unit.

"Nee, what's all this? I heard over the radio that there was a man looking to specifically kill Giant-Man? I told you. You need to get out of this silly superhero business. Before, you were covert and untouchable. Now, you're out there on everybody's radar. It all happened when that woman put you in the spot light by enlisting you in the Avengers."

Hank knew that Erica was extra angry when she refused to mention Jan's name; they never got along. On his end, despite once again defending himself as an adult making adult decisions, Hank was glad that she had called. This older Yollie was taking his mind off of his own disappointment with Jan.

He began, "Listen. … No listen, I said. We started the group together and I didn't have to follow anything that Jan initiates."

Erica responded with a mocking laugh. She then referred to the woman's use of sex to get him to pay for a luxury car, get him to show up at parties that he hated just for Jan to make business connections, and have expensive weekend getaways to the Caribbean.

Firstly, Hank didn't feel that it was proper to talk about his sex life with his sister. Thankfully, she didn't go into that "fallen from Grace" scenario." Secondly, he had to deal with the increasing of resentment that he felt towards Jan's manipulative ways with males— he didn't need to be reminded of it. Lastly, there was a pressing matter that he had to investigate. His sister's call was what he needed.

Calming Erica down, Hank explained that he needed to find out who was the suicide bomber waiting outside the Avenger's mansion. And what was his motive. The lunatic started to say something similar to the war cry of the terrorist group, the Sons Of The Serpents. Janet's boot to his face, stopped the man at "This time the.." Hank had to know if the guy was connected with the violent racists. If these southern whack-jobs were coming north to target Giant-Man, then no one around him was safe.

When he faced super-villains, the threat was upfront and recognizable. With the S.O.T.S. using civilians, no one could be sure from where an assassination bullet would come. Civilians were everywhere, in every city.

"You still have close buddies high in the F.B.I. hierarchy," he told Erica. "I need you to get them to send an agent into this lunatic's cell. I need to know what the agent looks like and when he'll arrive at the precinct. I'll do the rest."

Yollie knew what was going to happen. Hank was going to hitch-hick a ride on the agent's shoulder. Once in front of the would-be-assassin, Hank would hop on to him and slip him truth serum. Hank had perfected the drug, so that a tiny drop on a human tongue would render the subject groggy and cooperative in seconds. Erica admitted that it was something that all law-enforcement would love to use, but were forbidden to do so. Besides, no drug at their disposal was a powerful as Hank's. Oh, Erica had to add (since she was the big sister and not the runny-nosed little sibling) that the agent wouldn't be allowed in the cell. He'd be with the kook in an interrogation room with ha lawyer.

The phone was hung up. A minute later, it rang. Hank picked it up quickly because it wasn't on his private "Ant-Man Line." No one else in the penthouse needed to get involved. The suicide jumper's name—Darren Clover—and other information were passed on from Erica to the mind that could remember anything.

"Now Nee, this doesn't mean that we're finished talking about your retirement from spandex town, you know."

"I know. I have to go now. Love you a bushel."

"I love you a bushel and a peck," she replied repeating their special end-of -conversation phrase.

Erica put the phone back on the receiver. How would she explain that she was calling from Georgetown University Hospital, in Virginia? He had so much to deal with that she couldn't bring herself to tell him about the near-tragedythat brought her here. She would talk it over with her husband and find the best way to break the bad news to Hank.

"Yep," she said to herself, "We'll see."

Yolanda Vanko wrapped the towel around her hair as she came out of her bathroom and into the bedroom. Showers had a way of making annoying thoughts wash away. And being in a good mood, she refused to think about that classless, obnoxious, pain-in-the-rear Janet Van Dyne. Henry Pym was a better choice for her thoughts. He was handsome, gentlemanly, an encourager, kind to the point of being a fantasy prince. What a wonderful man saw in that wo— no. She'll not invite thoughts about that butt-scab.

She removed her towel to allow her shoulder length snow-white hair to air dry. The ravishing Russian looked up to the top shelf of her closet where her scrap books were placed.

This incessant habit of collecting memories started when her father, Anton ,was away working for the Soviets and her mother, Oleysa, was sent to "Retraining Camp" for the socially subversive. Her mother's brother, Rostislav Popov was a former teacher who had returned from the same camp. He and Yolanda became close. Together they secretly built a radio with which they listened to Radio Free Europe in a very low volume. Together, they invented a written languish that included hieroglyphics and apparently silly joint Russian words. It was with this new form of writing that they recorded all the counter communist propaganda. This is where she picked up her "collector's side." She also verbally spared with her very skilled Uncle who took the side of the government view purely for critical thinking lessons. But that bit of background is best left for another time.

One scrapbook held mementos of _Old World Yolanda_ It had pictures of family, friends. There were pictures of her with mom and dad before the government took special interest in Anton Vanko. There were a few pictures of her and mom after the government took him and broke open a whole in her family. The second and third memorabilia books presented the _New World_ _Yolanda._ There were more pictures in the two scrap books despite the fact that it covered less years than the first. In America, accessibility to cameras was also included in the "Land of Opportunity" clause. The fourth, fifth and sixth books were more _aspiration centered._

Henry had hinted that he was interested in striking out into a profit-generating venture outside of Government grants. Yollie thought that the idea was great. One book was set aside to chronicle Yolanda's hoped-for joint endeavor with Hank.

Books number five and six featured as many magazine and newspaper features on Henry and the Avengers as she could find. She compared them against the accounts that Henry shared with her. Yolanda was determined to join the team as the new Unicorn and she gathered a lot of info that would help that pursuit. The last scrap book featured "the others." They were the Fantastic Four, a new crusader named Daredevil, the least publicized X-men and someone of particular interest— Spider-Man.

He was somehow a completely different type of hero. And that intrigued her. He had the strength of perhaps 40 men, equaling Hank when he attained twelve feet. But unlike the handsome, towering Avenger, in a fight, Spider-man had more things going for him aside from physical prowess. Sure, Hank had the ability to form armies of obedient ants. But that wasn't as impressive as the fact that Spider-man incorporated the acrobatic skills of a Daredevil into his muscle work. Then there was this mysterious webbing that he used to conquer his foes. Yolanda was also fascinated, if not fully believing, this whole "spider-senses" ability that newspapers claim warns the red-and-blue adventurer of danger. He was an unusual character in a field of an already unusual class of people, to say the least. Yolanda refused to believe that he posed a danger to society as the bombastic Editor, J. Jonah Jameson declared. Due to her Old Yolanda experiences, she could smell slanted propaganda very easily.

This last scrap book (that doubled as her study guide) was taken down and placed on a small table standing a few feet from her bed. Yolanda was behind on her clipping and pasting.

She had the latest photos and articles on the heroes inside the center drawer of the table, but she was having a tough time opening it. Finally, she won the battle against the many cramped New York and New Jersey newspapers that kept the drawer closed. She began to read, clip and save.

At the last minute she decided not to include the American Civil Liberties Union's suit against Daredevil for violating some inane right of the criminally insane man, the Owl. She reminded herself to look up the other cases of the ACLU to see what this organization was about. Siding with a loan shark and murderer didn't mean siding with justice, Yolanda thought.

She instead included an article about Henry Pym's visit to a High School. Dr. Pym came to a school's auditorium to give a life-goal lecture. Most found it boring, but one Peter Parker enjoyed it. Dr. Pym then said that he was starting a scholarship program where he would reward the most academically successful students once a year. As it so happened, Peter's name was announced as the first winner of the annual program. Off to the side, after the thanks and back patting, Hank awarded him two tickets for an amusement park and a set of his yet marketed, revolutionary headphones. Hank kiddingly said that as a fellow bookworm to another, the studies could be put aside for fun occasionally.

Yolanda then turned to newspaper accounts of the New York arrival of a man named Kraven. His ship made port late morning last Saturday. The articles said that Kraven was the world's greatest hunter and he came to New York to track down the greatest of all game—Spider-man. The news media just gobbled it up. It was surprising that the Spider-man hater, the Daily Bugle's Jameson came out in a Sunday Editorial denouncement stating that Kraven would be committing a crime stalking any human … even the _intolerable_ Spider-man.

What particularly caught Yolands'a eyes were the many animals the conveniently escaped their shipping crates at the time Kraven set foot on the dock. The Bugle had no pictured of the event, but the _New York Journal American_ had twelve images of Kraven pushing big wild cats back into their cages. As she browsed through the snake-throwing, gorilla-subduing antics of this _**world's greatest**_ _**hunter,**_ Yolanda asked herself, why these cages and crates were suddenly too weak to hold their captives? If they were weak to begin with, why didn't the animals escape during the nearly week-long trek to the United States?

_No, this had to be staged to get into Spider-man's head_, she reasoned. She didn't like set-ups. It reminded her of the Soviet Union. And naturally, she had a strong negative feeling about this "hunter."

Yolanda yawned and stretched after gluing down the last Kraven picture . It was late and the weary nineteen-year-old was going to sleep. But as she made her way to the bed she had a wish. In this wonderful land of opportunity, she hoped to personally witness two events. Firstly, she wanted to see a certain handsome fellow realize his mistake in his choice of a love-interest. Secondly, Yollie wanted to be there in person when Spider-man knocks Kraven's block off. Could they happen? We'll see. We'll see.

It the same minute when TV cameras caught Spider-man dangling from a building, that Wilbur Day had changed his plan. In his Queens apartment, he turned to the live feed and absently stroked the metal wrapped around his torso.

Wilbur was inches under 6 feet, graying prematurely, and his body was starting on its way to a stomach bulge that characterized most middle-aged men. He was also one of the many brilliant men who once worked under Anton Vanko. His tenure in Starks Industries was not long. He stole the Experimental Weapons Department Head's blueprints for telescopic hydraulic lifts and a Molecular Condenser. He brought the prospectus' to the rival Kaxton Corporation in hopes of winning a departmental manager position in this firm that would bring a comparably salary to that of Vanko's lucrative deal.

Reginald Kaxton took the plans and promised Wilbur the high paying job that he sought. It didn't happen. Now, after a year and a half of carrot-dangling, Wilbur Day was going to have his revenge. He had privately designed a metal suit similar to that of his former boss' bodyguard, Iron Man. He could attest to its durability, but even Wilbur had to admit that when it came to arming the metal suit he was nowhere the equal of Starks nor Vanko. Still, he had the know-how to situate eight small bomb-tipped missiles on the right and left of the back of his armor. The compact hydraulic lifts were fashioned into the armors' legs. With mere toe movements, the metal legs could lift him as high as 20 stories, if he wished.

Tonight he was going to pay Kaxton a visit at his Upper Westchester estate. But what better way to test out his metallic powers than by downing the public menace, Spider-Man? And if he made himself a hero, the public could be turned to his side and public opinion would turn against Kaxton Corporation. He could even get law-enforcement to investigate Kaxton's theft of Stark property and a subsequent "death" of a Wilbur Day. Oh, this plan was getting better as Wilbur turned it over in his head.

But he first had to get to Spider-man and crush him. He lived twenty blocks from the 59th Street Bridge, but Wilbur wasn't going to use his car. He wanted nothing in the attack area to be trace back to him. Once the metallic warrior shows himself, he'd have to abandon his car and come back to it much later as Wilbur Day. Maybe some cop will run a license search for something stupid like over staying on a parking spot. A taxi would not be prudent. His armor was too bulky to hide under a jacket. Then the question arose, would any vehicle reach the scene on time? Spider-man has a knack of disappearing quickly.

No, he'd go as the armored being. The chest plate was already around him. All he had to do put on his metal arms, head gear, and his prized possession. The last item would be the preferred mode of transportation as well as a weapon. Wilbur smiled as he turned away from the screen images and headed for his closet. He was going to wear the telescopic stilts. He hadn't thought of a proper name for the new "hero", but since his legs would be the most prominent, Stilts-Man would do for now. The world will get its first view of the Stilts-Man. Yes, we'll see the debut of a new hero.

_What a stubborn jerk,_ Jan Van Dyne thought. Here she was banging on the door of Lab F and Hank would not respond. Damn it. She had just gotten off the phone with Steve Rodgers who reported a threat on the 59th Street Bridge. He couldn't get the other Avengers, but knowing that Giant-Man and the Wasp lived somewhere close to the bridge, Steve requested that the duo meet the terror first and he'd joined them as soon as possible.

Jan kept banging on the door of this childish lunk head. She knew that he was in there, because the normally opened door was locked and, in the dark hallway, light shone under the door.

"Just 'cause you're angry at me, don't ignore the call to assemble," she snapped.

This was getting her nowhere. And even if the Russian rat's bedroom was two stories above, Jan didn't want to give her the slimmest chance of knowing anything about their current spat.

Okay, then. Let him be that way. The Wasp will take flight and test the new weapon on her arm. Hank already knows the danger—she told him. Once she flies out of the window, the big jerk will follow. He thinks he can do what he childishly wants? He thinks that she can't move him into action, … into joining her? Ha! We'll see.

Inspiration: Actually this chapter takes place two weeks before Daredevil # 8.


	7. Chapter 7: A Price To Pay

Chapter Seven: A Price To Pay

He heard all that he needed to hear. At her rider's command, a flying ant landed on the shoulder of Darren Clover. Henry mounted his transporter. The ant rose over the head of a very subdued Clover and his very passive lawyer. It swiftly passed over the lean F.B.I. agent who sat quietly in astonishment. The agent never believed that Darren Clover could be so cooperative. He even volunteered answers to questions that were supposedly never asked. But then, the agent didn't know that Ant-Man was talking into the prisoner's right ear.

_S_eeing the tape recorder still spinning a spool below him, Ant-man thought "The agent didn't shut it off. What important info was there left to extract from Clover? Did he smoke Lucky Strike, or Chesterfield's? -_Nasty things, those_ _cigarettes. _Did he ever pass gas in a public area and then get dirty looks from people?

The ant dove down to the floor. The rider hugged the carrier as they slipped under the interrogation room door. Ant-man heard a commotion among the precinct officers about Spider-Man and a building jumper.

Was this publicized suicide attempt just a ruse to get a Giant-man's attention? It could be Jeff Clover. Darren did say that his older brother was going to initiate a second plan if he had failed. Henry had a transistor radio waiting for him just minutes away. He'd turn it on to find out.

Henry and the ant rose up again to surf the air flow caused by the ceiling fans. It was a good thing that it was summer. The Police Precinct's front doors were wide open. Clearing the last hanging circular ceiling light, Hank flew out without a human eye detecting him. The ride ended at a lonely alley, twenty blocks away. Hank hopped off and regained his regular height. He reached into a grocery store dumpster and took out a plastic encasing. Unzipping the bag, he availed himself to a blue long sleeve shirt, and a pair of dark pants. A pair of sneakers finished his new getup.

Hank took off his blue gloves and then retrieved an empty match box out from his pants pocket. His steed had served him well. It was his obligation to get her back to her colony safe and rested. The ant obediently snuggled herself into the small box lined with soft tissues. A tiny piece of honeydew melon was included as a treat. Hank slid the box close. With his Ant-Man hood folded against his back and under his shirt, the Avenger discarded the now smelly plastic bag back into the dumpster. As Hank walked into the humid streets, he dug into the other side of his pants to bring out a small radio.

* * *

Elihas Starr looked up at the cracks of the bedroom ceiling. Though under the influence, he wasn't sleepy. He wanted to talk. If there was a grapefruit in the room with him, Elihas figured that it would have had a better chance of understanding him. But since there was only this whore besides him…

He moved her shoulder angrily. "Wake up, wake up."

The small brunette turned around asking him what was the problem, after inserting as many cuss words as she possibly could.

"Shut up and listen to me," Elihas commanded. The woman groaned and closed her eyes. He stirred her again.

"I said listen to me. Learn something, you ignorant whore." She focused her angry eyes on the unusually shaped head of her current bed-mate.

"I know a man… a petty, insignificant nose hair by the name of Pym. He always thought he was so superior to me. The small-minded sneak really didn't believe that, but he needed to tell himself that so that he could stomach looking at himself in the mirror.

Anyway, this slime-ball, … he grabs me three times just before I can secure a great job in science. He knows without me his precious reputation would prove to be a lie. I'm the real brains behind our partnership."

"Partnership…."—with disgust on his face Elihas shook his head slowly, left and right— "more like a ball and chain to me… the greatest intellectual thorough-bred in history. He thinks he can bottle me up like a Genie. Then he can take me out whenever his feeble, over-rated mind can't solve a problem.

Elihas squinted as if to see something in the distance. "I take some of my projects home and the government brands me a thief. Imagine that—a thief, stealing my own work? That was probably Pym's doing, too. He thought at home I'd be able to improve on anything, invent anything. I'd finally come out from under his shadow, you know?"

A light snore indicated how interested his audience was with his bias scenario. Enraged, he brought the back of his hand down hard on her cheek. It stung his hand, but he didn't admit it.

The woman screamed in pain. Elihas put his left hand over her mouth and his other hand threateningly around her neck. "Shhh, whore. Stay awake. Don't you want to learn something? Do you want to stop being a _nothing_? Course you would."

Elihas removed his hands and she shrink away. He pulled her back and she squealed in fear.

"Shhh. Shhh. Stay awake and you have nothing to fear, bitch." Looking past her horizontal body, his eyes focused on nothing again. The alcohol was slowly taking effect.

"I was the wheel; no, the entire engine of the celebrated Pym-mobile. He got all the glory for my sweat. What did I get for it? Petty jobs under his mum, eh, thumb. Pym needed things that way. He was so stupid he couldn't think his way out of a paper bag. So weak he couldn't …. tell left from right. And he was jealous offffff me."

He frowned as if trying to figure out his next words. "The third and last time he enslaved me,… just like other times, he wanted to cake… make it look like he was mooing… no, doing me favor. But I fixed him."—he nodded approving his sentence structure—"Him. The jealous tiny brained jack-asssssss."

Elihas smiled, and added, "I got my pants, eh, chance. The idiot thought he had invented a stink… shrinking serum… some subatomic slupthing. I took a month's worth of celery, .. no, salary in advance. And why not? He cheated me out of years of wetness…. greatness. Then I went to hell, t- t- tell the Feds this time. I told them what a crack pot I was, no, he—he was. Told the government that he was stealing their honey, or money or what…. saying that he could shrink things."

Elihas shook his head in loathing. This time that simple move made him dizzy. He fell back onto his pillow. After a while he continued.

"They clipped-did his wings, … that jealous idiot. Brainless ball and train."

"Then I heard about a stupid Ant-thing. …Man. No one actually seen him, but he also cook a lot of underwear, … no, undeserved adulation from the pub… lic. I started putting two and two together and I skinned the cat"—Elihas frowned trying to piece his words together—"I found more than a way to come to four. The door? No, was right –four."

The increasing fog in his mind began to irritate him. _This slow thinking must have been Pym's fault also, _he reasoned.

Elihas yelled, "He slipped something into me, but it won't work!"

Hearing his own echo bounce back to him, he put his finger to his lips hushing the woman again as if the shout came from her. In a calmer voice he continued.

"I know he's Ant-pants… fancy pants is Ant-…Man. I c-c-can prove it. When we fl… flo… no, we fought, …. he tricked me rice, twice. But I was too quack, … too quick to be caught. But strike free is coming … This time I have a fan—no, a plan to flush, to..flinish him off. And you know, that other ridiculous .. Spider-Ham."

He stopped and laughed at the image of a red-and-blue costumed pig. Spider… intsey wintsie. Everybody's afraid of him too. I'll flinish both of them before getting to… to… the water spout. I'll have both the crime curl, .. worl' and the science com-mimi-me … community by the b …balls. Me, king …. Who? …. Oh, yes, King Starr, the rinsing first."

He looked back at the woman after sketching-out his great plan. Instead of adoration, he saw her eyes glaze over.

"You're so stupid, you know fat? You'll learn nothing. If you did, you'd know the great asss—the greatnaass before you. But there's only one thing .. one, one thing you know. Only one thing you're good for.

He roughly turned her on to her stomach. He took his body member out of his pajamas opening. He dropped on top of her, impressed with his own virility. He thought he was penetrating her with his shrunken worm, but she was groaning because of the great weight of the football-shaped man.

"There, there, that's what you know. That's the only sing you're good for."

Seconds later, he stopped as if he was dead. After a round of muffled pleas, the small woman managed to bring her head up from the mattress. From under his arm pit, she gasped. Then with the extraordinary strength that arises in a life threatening situation, her arms pushed up, causing the mass of flab to roll off of her and onto his side.

She looked back to curse him, but even in her stupor, she realized that he was out cold. Great. Now she could get, up, ran-sack his house for money and leave. She got to her feet and then the enormous strength abandoned her. And so did her will. She dropped back to the mattress, and looked at the miserable mistake that was caused by the wrong sperm fertilizing a human egg. She then got a brilliant idea. She returned the slap that he earlier gave her. _**WHACK.**_

_That was fun_. She hit him three more times, but a fifth attempt left her head spinning. She rested a bit and then she pushed him onto his back. She giggled at the idea of peeing on his face. As she hurried to straddle his cone head with her legs, she bumped her own head on the wall and fell backwards onto him. Now even the slim vestige of strength that once powered her small body left her. She closed her eyes.

_Okay_, she thought, _I'll pee on his face later._

* * *

The Wasp whisked through the damp night sky to approach the 59th Street Bridge. The back-up of vehicles on the Queens side was unusual for a Sunday night. But it gave testament to the danger that had already mounted the bridge.

Cars in the middle of the bridge were trying to back up, but the drivers behind them— being relatively at a safe distance from harm— were either curious about the menace, or just plain dense. The Wasp raced forward. On the way to the middle of the expanse, Jan witnessed the awesome sight of a few car hoods horrendously smashed-in and fluids leaking away from them. Looking up, she finally saw the back of an odd creature before her.

Arrayed in gray metal, it had a dome-like head, and the torso of a man with a metallic backpack. That backpack had eight black half tennis balls attached on both sides. Its legs were monstrously elongated by more than thirty feet. It was just as Steve Rodgers described it over the phone. It was heading towards Manhattan and it had a violent temper. Through a megaphone that seemed invisible to the eye, the thing's amplified voice cussed and swore at the motorists.

Jan moved around to the front of the terror at a safe distance. She saw that the dome wasn't a head, but some sort of protection for the back of his head. The almost human face of this thing was also metallic and gray. Jan got close enough to see that the eye slits of the face mask revealed that a man was in that thing.

"I'm telling you, get out of my way," the menace shouted. "You f- -king idiots can't see that I'm here to save you?"

_That's a new con from a villain,_ Jan thought.

She moved behind the forward progressing metal man and shouted "Save us from what?"

She flew a few feet over his head as the figure turned in surprise. He thought that he heard someone behind him; someone who may have been as tall as he.

Seeing no one, he recovered to say, "Idiots—I'm saving you from that f- - king masked hooligan, Spider-man."

Though Jan never met him, the idea of a man wanting to impersonate something as horrible as a spider was extremely offensive to a female who donned the name "The Wasp." Maybe she would have liked to have seen the two of them square-off, but this _cheap imitation of Iron Man_ was endangering people.

She flew back towards the face mask.

She began, "Whoa, Daddy Long-legs. Just simmer down."—He squinted to find the speaker—"Take it easy. If you want to act like a hero, then—"

"The Wasp," he snarled with the amplification that made Jan cup her ears with her hands—"Get away from me you brainless bitch."

He began to quickly swing his hands in an attempt to swat her away. In her thoughts, she thanked Hank for the many months of evasive maneuvering training. The metal menace was left striking nothing but air. The Wasp was too quick to be touched.

"Listen, Tin Can of Sh – t, This _**brainless bitch**_ is an Avenger. So get ready to get you're a – s kicked by this bitch."

Jan was steamed to the hilt. She adjusted her air compressor to full capacity. _It could kill a charging tiger,_ she remembered Hank's words. Well it's going to dent the empty head of this _scum-in-a-can_. She didn't need Giant-Man for this battle. She didn't need anyone. She was Avenger enough to solve this mess alone.

She'd aim just above an eye slit and give the jackass a migraine of a lifetime. All she had to do was to taunt him enough to make his back face the nearly empty Queens-bound side. That was where Mr. Talking-Toilet was going to land…. And _**HARD!**_

Suddenly both of the contestants were diverted from their initial clash by a loudspeaker roaring from the opposite-side traffic lane. Two Manhattan cops had leaped out of their patrol car. One held the voice-amplifier, but both had their guns drawn.

"Police! …Stop where you are," the officer warned. "We will be compelled to fire if you don't."

"NOOO!" the towering terror said. "You won't stop me from my destiny. Today the world needs to see their new champion. Today the world needs to see Spider-Man crushed by Stilt-Man."

"_Stilt-Man?"_ Jan replied while swirling distractingly around him. "You have to be kidding. There were no other lame names to take? Where you sober when you took that name, meathead? Stilt-Man— _really?"_

He continued to swing and miss. She had him turn around a few time, but not to the position that she wanted. Still, it was fun to show off her superiority over this awkward moving scum-eater.

The Wasp advised, "How about something that reveals the inner you? … Like the _Supreme Sh –t Head_, or the _Amazing A – s Hole_.

"But don't worry about it, you walking port-a-potty. I'll send you to dreamland before you can hear anyone laugh at your dumb a –s name."

The Stilt-Man could tolerate no more of the trivial distraction. He had an image to build and he was going into Manhattan to do just that. The officer warned him a second time. Then three siren-screaming, Queens-bound police cars screeched to a stop before the metal giant. The police that he left behind him opened fire. That was Jan's cue to get out of there.

"Damn it. Leave to meddlesome guys to screw up a girl's sure-victory."

The shots bounced off of him. The metal threat seemed less bothered by the flying bullets than he was by Jan's taunting. With his back to the shooters he used his left index finger to flip open a thin metal flap on his right forearm. The black half tennis ball on the lower left side of his metal backpack emitted a thin red light at its base. Before anyone knew what happened, it shot off with a _"floosh."_

Its six-inch tail was unmistakably missile-like. Jan's eyes followed its speedy trek towards the police car behind the Stilt-man. The air roared with an explosion. A blinding yellow-orange blast caused her to turn away. When she looked again, a black mushroom cloud began to rise skyward. The Wasp could not find the policemen that stood by the car. Jan instinctively turned to the newly arrived policemen just a second before they began firing.

The Stilt-Man balanced himself on one foot while his other leg retracted. The raised leg shot out to squash one officer. The leg then swung up to catch another cop in the chin. His body flew up. The gross backward movement of his head in mid-flight indicated that his skull was separated from his spinal cord, killing him instantly.

With the metal foot pulled away, Jan saw the first officer's head on the ground. His skull looked like a deflated balloon and blood sprang away from what she could recognize as his ears and mouth. The Wasp didn't know why she couldn't turn away from such a ghastly sight. Then, from the corner of her eye, Jan spotted one of the officers that disappeared in the blast. He was motionless on the ground and his hair and clothes were on fire.

A fourth officer was still shooting when the metal foot smashed him into the closed door of his car. Mercifully, only one hand and two feet of the utterly pulverized man were visible to Jan.

The two officers in the furthest car opened the doors to get in and begin a retreat. The remaining officer from the second squad car ran to join them. The metal leg shot out again. It pushed-in the front door, killing the driver. The leg continued lengthening to force the patrol car— with the two live men in it— over the edge into the waters of the East River.

The Wasp, too shocked to exhibit any life, stared blankly at the scene.


	8. Chapter 8: Victory and Betrayal

Chapter 8: Victory and Betrayal

There was a reason that Erica Pym Collingsworth did not tell her brother that she was calling him from a hospital. Henry was up to his chin in various projects.

Erica's sources tipped her off long ago that the bombastic Harrington Byrd had gathered enough support from fellow anti-Tony Stark senators to start a hearing. Now that Vanko was gone, they'll look to fry Stark Industries' chief freelance contributors. That meant Henry would be under a microscope. They would compare his Stark Industries income to his financial assets and the secret income that he had received as a spy-smasher could be exposed. That money was specifically treated as "dropped-out-of-pocket" so that it would be difficult to trace it to Henry.

Once these press-hungry congressional pigs leaked that out to the media, America's enemies will declare open season on her brother. Hank had to prepare for the hearing while develop an entrepreneurial plan to start a business, leaving government employment behind. He also had an assassination attempt to investigate. How could she burden him further with the news that his brother-in-law had a stroke serious enough to land him in the Georgetown University Hospital?

The stroke happened as she was driving both of them home from work. Considering the dark possibilities that ran through her head when he fell over to her side of the car, she thought they were lucky.

As Washington Officials, the Collingsworth couple had the privilege of having a car phone. Instantly after she made the call, police motorcycles squeezed by the rush hour traffic. With sirens blazing, they made a way for Erica to reach the hospital. Every few half-miles, FBI cars joined in on the procession. One might say that they had enough the fire-power on their side to stop a mob. But what use was that? Rioters weren't the cause of this emergency.

Upon admission, Erica had stayed by his side. She stroked his hand and talked to him all that time. He appeared unconscious, but she knew he heard her.

Only ten minutes after he had arrived at the hospital, Barry finally opened his eyes. Doctors wanted to see if the stroke damaged his memory. After asking his name, address and birthday, they asked him what else he could remember. He turned to his wife.

"All the times that she made fun of my name."

Erica cried and laughed at the same time while burying her face into his chest. She lifted her head, stroked his graying hair, and finally managed, "I told you a million times, when I first met you that I thought, 'Who would announce himself as Barrymore Ulysses Collingsworth and still walk around unembarrassed?' But right now it sounds like the greatest name in the world… and you look like the handsomest devil in the universe."

She kissed him repeatedly and apologized for the tears that bathed his face.

Test exposed an artery blockage as the culprit. Barry would stay under the hospital's watch until Tuesday, but the doctors assured Erica that with a few weeks of therapy, he'd return close to 100% functional capacity.

But today, seeing him motionless in the car brought home her sense of their mortality. Tomorrow is not guaranteed to anyone. Then, considering another thought, there was the possibility of a future illness that could rob one of years and money. Time wasn't known for mercy— it stops for no one to catch up to it, nor does it replaces what it snatched away.

Barry's sister and mother had come into the hospital later, in the evening. They advised Erica to take a break. They would stay with him. Barry thought that it was a great idea; that way his wife could go to the cafeteria and sneak a _Drake's Yodel_ up to his room.

"NO WAY!" she roared. "Fats and sweets are out. I'll bring you apples and a banana."

Barry groaned, but Erica replied that for the rest of his life, his diet had changed. Walking into the eatery, her eyes instinctively looked up to a wall-mounted television. The on-screen newscaster was speaking about a thwarted attempt on Giant-Man's life, right outside of the Avengers' mansion.

She raced to a hall phone and called New York demanding answers. In an unexpected turnaround, she ended up being the one providing Henry with answers.

Upon returning to Barry's room with the fruits, her husband joined the in-laws' chorus to take a longer break from her vigil over his bed. . Defying her mother-in-law's wishes usually led to arguments, and this was the worst time for it.

She took her shoulder strap purse and went out into the summer night. As she walked, Erica was convinced that she and Barry had to seriously look at where they were and where they were going. Maybe a simpler, less stressful life was in order. The first step in a change of lifestyle, had to include the vacation that the two workaholics have not taken in years. There would be a stronger motivation for this if she got back her pregnancy test proving that there was _indeed_ a muffin in the oven.

Come to think about it, Henry wasn't the only one that she was keeping in the dark. In all the excitement, she forgot to tell her beloved husband about the test. Then again, why get his hopes up?

Erica decided to think upon lighter things. She was going to call her kid brother to… At the thought of Nee, Erica's detour away from negative thoughts was re-directed back.

Henry had an unworthy girlfriend who has charmed him for reasons that were beyond Erica's understanding. Janet Van Dyne was a heart-breaking, manipulative, high-maintenance floozy as far as Big Sis was concerned. She was the reason for his new address— the rising rental rates were a secondary concern.

Her troubled thoughts caused Erica to fail to notice the Washington, DC neighborhood that she had wandered into.

Suddenly, she felt a push on her back and her face and chest were forced against a building's wall.

"Don't move and you won't get hurt," a young male voice said.

* * *

Hovering over the roadway of the 59th Street Bridge, Jan snapped out of her spell and flew down towards the policeman who was on fire. She grew into her normal height and began tapping out the flames with her fire-proof gloves.

_Was he still alive?_ She had to snuff out the flames before any further damage to his bod-. She stopped and looked at his charred hand next to his blackened head.

Even if he dead, she had to beat away the fire. It was too undignified a manner for a hero to fall.

When the flames were out, Jan knelt there with her body trembling. The shaking wasn't brought on by fear, but by a sudden torrent of anger.

She screamed into the night air, "THESE WERE HUSBANDS, FATHERS, SONS! THEY WON'T COME HOME TO THEIR ONES ANYMORE!"

After releasing the last word, she made out flashing lights and sirens coming from the Queens side. _Cops and medics,_ she said to herself. But the trembling heroine wasn't just going to wait there for them. No, not when the filthy scum responsible for this was free to roam. She shrunk back down to four inches and sped to the Manhattan side of the bridge. Three quick explosions and flashes shattered the night. Her speed increased to a rate that she had never dared to approach outside of rescuing Hank from a hawk earlier that day. Her body caused the heavy summer air to whistle as she sliced through it.

On the Manhattan side, the Stilt-man was met by squad cars at the opening of the bridge. More policemen were being slaughtered by the crazed metal man. From some 700 feet away from bridge's entrance, Jan saw the front half of a police car falling from the sky down to the street. She prepared her weapon and charged onward.

* * *

"_**Whoa!**_"

That was all he could say when he swung out of 57th street into the avenue that feed cars into the bridge. The view of the horrific carnage and of the metal terror stunned Spider-man. Cop cars were damaged and in flames; storefronts were also ablaze. A wall of police resistance had broken and the men in blue ran, making sure that they didn't trip over their fellow officers lying motionless on the street. Screaming fire trucks had appeared also. Spider-man wondered, _aside from putting out fire could the trucks be used …? _

No, the liter of destroyed cars prevented their trucks from ramming into the long-legged monster.

In one swift movement he spun his telephoto lens onto his camera and slapped the camera against a nest of webbing on the side of the corner building of Third Avenue and 6Oth Street.

Through some voice magnifier, the killer called himself the Stilt-man; he said he was a hero and that the cops were stopping him. _Stopping him from what,_ Spider-man asked himself.

Stilt-man was facing downtown when Spider-man dropped behind him. The police had stopped shooting to regroup and launch a second attack. The red-and-blue hero picked up a heavy car hood from the ground. He had planned to strike it against the back of the Stilt-man's knees and make him fall. But first he had to find those "knees" on the hydraulic limbs.

The murderer was turning around. Spider-man, with car hood in his hands, hopped behind the Stilt-man and prepared to take the metal man down.

Suddenly, in mid-flight, he received a half-second stimulus from his spider-senses. There was a loud "CRACK". The hood buckled towards Spider-man's face and the young hero was thrown violently earthward.

* * *

When faced with an impending disaster, the human mind shows itself to be awesome. Jan knows. When she was eleven years old, Jan witnesses a bad car crash. An elderly driver was passing an intersection. Another car was shooting down from a hill to the cross road. There was a stop sign there, but Jan knew that the oncoming driver couldn't, or wouldn't, obey it.

The speeding car was going to ram the first vehicle. At that point, everything appeared to move in slow motion in Jan's perspective. Yes, the horrible event was going to take place in a second, but Jan remembered having enough time for her to reprimand the speeding driver.

Her mind shouted, "STOP, STOP, STOP. Can't you see what is about to happen? Are you blind, or stupid, or what?"

The terrible impact and the subsequent spinning of the car took on a snail's pace. After it was over, time regained its normal tempo for the young witness.

At this moment, the twenty-three-year-old Janet Van Dyne was experiencing the same time-drag. Though she may have been topping 80 miles an hour, she still had time to realize that if she struck the murderer with her air compressor at the maximum setting, she was no better than he was.

_No,_ she thought. _The Stilt-scum had to live and go to trial. He would have to face the widows and orphans of the brave men that he massacred. _

She slapped her left hand over the button on top of her weapon. She'd strike his metal headgear at 75 percent capacity. If she made no dent, she could go back to full strength.

Stilt-man was now before her. He was right there.. RIGHT THERE!

Suddenly a car hood jumped up in front of her. The slow motion time sequence had not dissipated, so Jan had time to reason. If her air compressor swatted it away, the hood could decapitate someone. If she flew around it, that was bad, also. There were some stopped police vehicles on the bridge, directly under her. She didn't know if they were all abandoned or if there was a man inside of one, calling for reinforcement. Now, if she struck the hood so that it went straight down….

She arched her back to rocket upward. The momentum of her speed— the speed that her mind did not grasp— caused a painful crush against her body upon changing direction. But it was a small consequence. She aimed and fired.

The flying car hood bent in the middle and went down fast.

* * *

Spider-man's quick instincts and incredible leg strength were his saviors. Upon impact with the ground, the car hood bounced up and away from his hands. His tremendous legs absorbed the crash upon the ground, but his body was also forced to bounce away from the point of impact. Where a normal man would have died by having his spine snapped in two, Spider-man only ended up sitting on the street. He stayed there for long seconds— his whole body was rattled by the impact coming from the unexpected fall.

Suddenly, his mind came back into play. The Stilt-man was somewhere near and he had to be stopped. The young hero got up. The adventurer started to shake the effects from his lower body when he noticed a car wildly maneuvering around the wreckage of building parts and destroyed vehicles. Twice, the crazy driver almost flipped the car on its side when it hit unmovable objects.

"Aww man" the nearly recovered Spider-man said. "Not now. I can't deal with a drunk driver with Stilt-man on the loose."

The car stopped in front of a city bus, some 25 yards in front of the frustrated Spider-man. A wide-eyed bald man came out of the vehicle wrapped in a poncho that could cover the Hulk. The crazy man's arms pushed back the poncho and it fell to the ground. The funny thing was that his arms where very long and green. His whole body was green. It took Spider-man a few seconds to focus on his wickedly smiling face.

"Ohhh, no," Spider-man said as his hands slapped the sides of his thighs. "Here? Now? With everything that's happening? What kind of crazy old fart are you, Vulture?

* * *

Peter Parker had a messy unlucky streak going. The girl he's crazy about, Betty Brant , is ticked off. She believes that Peter has the hots for a blonde, Liz Allen. Midtown High's resident chief jock and big mouth, Flash Thompson has the same impression. And for stealing Liz's affection, Flash is looking to knock Peter into next Sunday. Needing to hide his other identity, Peter couldn't show his full strength. But he also didn't want to be Flash's punching bag, either.

Avoiding Flash brought on giggles from girls and shouts of _coward _from the guys in school.

The Daily Bugle had the world believing that Spider-man is a public menace. Speaking of which, Editor and Publisher, J. Jonah Jameson had fired him for not taking pictures of the arrival of Kraven the Hunter. It was an income that he needed. Money was low. Aunt May had to pawn her grandmother's jewelry to keep up with expenses. There was a question as to who suffered most from that transaction—Aunt May or Peter.

And right now Peter was standing between a new threat, the powerful Stilt-man, and a returning and formidable villain, The Vulture.

But if Mr. Parker thought that he had been struck by every conceivable bad break known to man, he'd change his mind if he knew what was transpiring many miles away in Freeport, Long Island. Another figure from his past— one green demon-faced sky traveler— was also looking for vengeance, but it wasn't on Spider-man. He was zeroing in on Gregor Shapaka's home; Jack Frost's home.

The cloud cover in front of the moon was a great canopy for the Green Goblin. The side of Industrialist Norman Osborn was proud to see that he successfully replaced his unsightly, noisy rocket- broomstick. His new means of transportation also used the rocket principal, but the engine noise was just above a whisper. The metallic batwings on both sides served as his feet harness and gave him a superior steering ability over his first model.

Tip his toes forward, he dives; bring his toes up, he rises; use his left leg to move the flexible bat wing close and his vehicle turns right. To complete his rocket's motif, in a weird homage to an old comic book character's car, the Goblin attached an all-black _**bat head**_ to the front of his ride. Finally, he found the abode that he was looking for. Lights were on in the living room and in one second floor window.

The Goblin looked up to see that the current cloud covering was going to pass and the full moon was going to shine down like a spotlight. He dove down towards Shapanka's modest house. He ducked into a tree in Shapanka's back yard just as the whole neighborhood became bathed in silvery light.

Looking around and satisfied that there were no amateur astrologists looking out of their windows to possibly spot him, the Goblin's glider hummed forward towards the light-emitting second floor window. He saw no one in the bed room.

The Goblin thought, "Was the stupidly named _Jack Frost_ in the basement his practicing with his icing gun? Yes, yes—then I could prove my superiority over the idiot just before taking his weapon from him."

From his purple bag, he took out something that looked like a long pencil. The middle bent to form a "V". One end had a small suction cup. At the other end, the thin object had a glass cutter.

* * *

From behind his metal mask Wilbur Day saw more flashing lights heading his way from cross town and uptown. His small, but powerful amplified speakers launched a storm of profanities. The resistance that the brainless police was putting up was not allowing him to hunt down the real villain, Spider-man. In frustration, Stilt-man shot off one expandable leg to kick at a building forty yards away. The crowd of people standing by the edifice gasped, but they only moved away a few feet before resuming their viewing of the battle. The kick loosened a giraffe-sized concrete portion of the building's corner from the tenth floor. It plummeted down towards the people. It was large enough to kill a dozen and seriously injure many more when it hit the ground and shattered.

Jan turned from her target and increased the level of her gun. Three shots and the falling concrete structure became small rocks that hit against the same building from which it fell.

The Wasp was now the second costumed figure that was nearly crazy with rage. She landed on an overturned truck and assumed her normal size. With every iota of her enraged being she shouted to the masses in front of her.

"Are you f- - king people crazy? I had the bastard in my sight. I could have ended this. But you a- - holes are standing here like a d- - k was up you're a- - ,looking to get killed. I can't be responsible for your dumb a- - es. Get out of here."

The crowd did not move. They stared at her as if she and everything around her was part of a movie. The angry Wasp felt like aiming … oh, forget it. She shrank and took to the air.

"I can't fight and still keep an eye on the a- - holes. Oh Hank where are you. I need you_**. WHERE THE F - - K ARE YOU!?"**_

She noticed a car racing into the carnage. It bounced off of the larger debris that scattered across the street. The car nearly flipped over.

Another A - - hole, Jan exclaimed. Probably wants a better view of his own death. The sh – t head."

She had to turn around, to take out Stilt-man before more police lives were taken. But before she turned around, her eyes caught Spider-man sitting on the street.

_WHAT THE F - - K?!_ Sitting on the street? Is he drunk? She'd get him up.

Well, he wasn't her choice in a partner, but without Hank or Steve, the Wasp couldn't be choosey. There was a job to be done. She zoomed down.

Spider-man suddenly sprang up to his feet. As she slowed down in front of him, the oncoming car stopped and out of the driver's door popped out what she fist believed was the Hulk. The body was very wide under a circus tent of a poncho. The face of the person looked old and his wide eyes proved that he was crazy.

The old goat flipped off his covering as the Wasp tried to get Spider-man's attention. But he was too occupied with the old nut-job.

Spider-man yelled "Ohhh, NO! Here? Now?"

The Wasp turned around and she immediately recognized the crazy man before them— Professor Adrian Toomes. He had recently escaped prison and was believed to be out of the country. Toomes was the inventor whose great devise, an anti-gravity mechanism, launched him into a criminal career as the_ Vulture_. He was old, but in his costume, he was more than a handful.

Thankfully, he appeared oblivious to Stilt-man, who was cursing up a storm almost half a block to the right of her. That meant that they weren't a team. That also meant that Toomes had to go down quickly before they decided to pair-up against the heroes.

She turned to Spider-man, "You have webs that you shot, right? So do it."

Spider-man turned around to see who was talking.

"SHOOT, DAMN IT ! SHOOT!" she yelled.

After he let out a flurry of webbing, the Wasp introduced herself behind the masked hero's left ear.

"Wow, I heard of you," he said. "I didn't think that you actually could be so small."

"Don't blame you. My shrinking ability isn't as believable as a guy dressed up in a Spider outfit, who can climb up walls and jump three stories high."

"Touche."

After they thought that the Vulture was covered helplessly in web, the duo heard the amplified cry, "Spider-man."

Stilt-man had found his prey. As they turned to him the mass of webbing around the Vulture was being sliced away.

"Surprise you, Spider-dolt," Toomes said. "Since last we met I've made a few changes. The two longest feathers at the end of each wing are now thin steel. … sharp enough to slice through your webbings and …your flesh."

His evil smile and eye bulges when he said "flesh" sent a chill over Jan's skin. Without thinking, she raced towards the metal menace, and at the last minute reverted to full size. She turned her body around to charge him feet first. Her weight backed by her momentum nearly toppled elongated killer. Taken by surprise, he ran sidewise, desperately trying to regain his balance.

Spider-man turned to the Vulture who was spreading his wings. The light reflecting off the four longest wings verified that they were actually sharpened swords.

Toomes was rising up and Spider-man was bracing for an attack. Suddenly, all five foot, six inches of the Wasp appeared above him. She crashed down on the Vulture's back and then disappeared. Again, surprise was her great advantage.

Toomes went down, but stopped short of hitting the ground.

"How… did you do that?" the astonished Toomes asked the web-slinger.

Suddenly, as if a mighty invisible hand had grabbed the Vulture, the villain was shot backwards into the nine-foot by five-foot front window of the bus directly behind him.

"Time to move, web-brain," Wasp yelled,

The young hero raced to the front of the bus, but Toomes took out the rear window in a wild attempt to flee.

"THIS IS MADNESS! " The Vulture screamed. As he took off, his words began to diminish in volume. "You've develop some strange, unseen power."

The Vulture raced out of view.

"Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle," Spider-man said in disbelief.

"Naw, you don't have enough brains to be that." The tiny heroine responded. "But you do have enough to help me clean this idiot's clock."

The _idiot_ that she referred to was the advancing Stilt-man.

Spider-man responded, "Okay, you ditzy dame, I'll take care of this. Eh, not that I need him, but where's your tree-sized squeeze?"

As his powerful legs launched him forward, Jan was left asking the same question. The battle continued with Stilt-man's destructive boot missing Spider-man time after time. The Wasp hated to admit it, but that Spider-bum's speed was impressive. Even her eyes had problems following him. In one leap, the hero ricocheted off of the third floor of a building and rammed into his opponent, feet first.

When the Wasp performed that maneuver, it sent Stilt-man stumbling to regain his balance. But Jan had the element of surprise in her favor. The much stronger Spider-man could only make the metal terrorist backpedal three steps.

It was apparent to Jan that neither combatant was gaining an advantage over the other. Oh where was Hank? He would take care of ..

"WHAT THE HELL," her mind screamed at her. "AM I STUPID?" She had banged upon Hank's door back at the penthouse and demanded that he join her in the battle. But during all this excitement, Jan hadn't used her cybernetic messaging unit under her hood. She mentally sent out an S.O.S. to Hank and all neighboring ant colonies.

Hearing a familiar launch sound, Jan turned around. Sure enough, Spider-man was spinning, leaping and dodging himself clear of two of those dangerous 18-inch long guided missiles. Again, she hated to admit that his acrobatics were amazing, but whether he was on the ground or in mid-leap … WOW!

Still, Spider-creep was human. He would eventually get tired and the zigzagging missiles showed no let up in determination. If one of them could tear a vehicle to metal shreds, Spider-man was in deep - - - - .

Stilt-man had his foe on the defensive so that he could not use his web on the murderer. Now, renewed police fire had done the same to him. They prevented any metal leg attacks on Spider-man.

Wisely, the hero moved away from the flying police bullets in fear that a shell would trigger a missile explosion. But that's exactly how the Wasp planned to increase the odds in the favor of her temporary partner.

The valiant heroine waited until one of the unrelenting rockets was a safe distance from the youthful adventurer before acting. She spotted her opportunity. One rocket made a wide turn to resume the attack. The Wasp aimed her gun and the missile was nothing but a deafening roar and an eye-squinting blast.

Jan heard the gun fire ceased. That meant that the police was retreating again. She hurled herself towards the face mask of the towering terrorist. She had to hit him just above one eye slit and wait for the result.

Suddenly, Spider-man, web-swinging away from the last rocket, leaped on Stilt-man's back.

"If I go, I'm taking you with me, you metal moron."

The Wasp knew what Spider-man had done in drawing the missile back to the Stilt-man. She cleared out.

Spider-man's senses started to tingle, and he let go. As he fell away he heard a hum. He surmised, _the bastard had equipped his armor so that he could electrocute anyone who dared to hang on to him. _

Two breath-taking leaps later, the youth found himself standing between the two ends of a squad car that an explosion had split. He grabbed the front half of the vehicle with both hands. Hearing the whistle of the approaching rocket behind him, Spider-man jerked his body backwards. His arms went with the momentum and hurled the heavy mass towards the missile. The missile was stopped, but the explosion sent metal shrapnel into Spider-man's direction. If it wasn't for the other half of the car that shielded him, the hero would have been decapitated.

"Boy, that sure was a dumb move," he said to no one in particular.

"It sure was," Wasp said. "You must have cobwebs for brains."

He was surprised that she had been that close to him, but then she was probably going to explode the rocket in the same mysterious way that she had dumped the first one. Spider-man could have said thanks, but she was becoming a wise-a - - critic. So his gratitude came out as:

"_Aww shaddup._ For a tiny witch, you've got a _biiiig_ mouth."

The two males again engaged in battle. Spider-man threw a blanket of webbing over his opponent, but thanks to his armor's electric charges, the netting quickly burst into flames and fell off of him.

The Wasp had not stopped sending her distress calls. Jan looked up to the 59th Street Bridge's road way. Nothing. Maybe Henry was already on the island. She looked to the north, west and south. Again, no sign of her powerful beau.

She turned back to the battle. What the hell was in Spider-man's hand? Was it a weapon? It couldn't be a camera. He kept aiming it at the Stilt-man, but nothing was happening. Spider-man threw it away four times, but each time he'd shoot a web-line, caught it and then pulled it back to him- WAIT! It _ISSS _a camera.

_No,_ she said to herself. _Get a hold of yourself. Spider-man isn't crazy, just obnoxious._

The Wasp was going to find the one person who could match the elongated killer foot-for-foot and punch his lights out. Spider-man would have to fend for himself for a while. She was going to cross the bridge back to Queens. Henry had to be at the opening of the expanse—_he had to be._

Though she moved at an incredible speed, the remnant scene of the first battle didn't go unnoticed. Even as her body moved forward, her head moved down and slightly towards her right armpit as her eyes were momentarily fixed on the ambulances and the increased police presence where the first officers were slaughtered.

She made it to the Queens side. She flew twenty yards to the right and then forty to the left. Where was he? She stayed there waiting as long as she could. Then with her already anxious feeling taking a spike up, Jan flew back to Manhattan.

She was whizzing by the metal girdles when she spotted something incredible. Spider-man was teasing and leading Stilt-man back onto the bridge. The Spider-jerk leaped and hung onto one of the steel support cables.

"Are you f - - king crazy?" she shouted by his ear. "You're bringing him here?"

Breathing heavily, he responded, "Look, … Madam Moron, ….I don't plan …on having to… pick up pieces of myself …after I finish… this fight. Here, .. in enclosed .. area, … he won't likely launch …his missiles. Too great …a chance that they… will hit cables … and girders. But hey,… If you miss… the explosions,… you can step in … take my place."

Spider-man gulped an then said, "Don't worry, Tiny Twit…. I'm getting…. him tired."

"You're getting _**HIM **_tired," she asked incredulously.

Both scattered in different directions just as their opponent's deadly kick narrowly missed them.

The Wasp dove down to Spider-man's shoulder and held tightly to his mask with her hands.

"Look behind you, dummy," she charged. The young hero's chin made contact with his left shoulder. He saw the flashing lights, the stretchers and the long sheets that he assumed were covering dead bodies.

"He already has and will launch his missiles here," Jan continued. She saw the camera-like object in Spider-man's hand, but ignored it in the face of the dire circumstance.

She said, "You just spin him around so that his back is towards the water and let me try my plan."

Spider-man nodded and leaped away.

The police who surrounded their dead partners drew their guns at Stilt-man. Jan appeared in her full human height before the police. She waved -down their attempts to shot the villain.

"Don't bring attention to yourself. Spider-man and I have a plan to dump him over the side. Don't fire until I signal you that we have failed."

Then she disappeared before their eyes.

Spider-man jumped from his right, to his left, but Stilt-man kept his back away from the river.

"No, no," she shouted at the youth, "Keep him away from the ambulances."

At that same instance, Spider-man's webbing hit the Stilt-man. With a pull, the hero was able to turn the killer around to the right position, before the web fell off in flames.

This was her chance. The Wasp moved in at a rapid pace, but then stopped at the sight of two un-launched missile heads glow where the rounded shapes met the metal backpack.

The tiny heroine's instinct took over. The Wasp aimed her weapon at a particular point in the path that the missile had to take to circle around and hunt for Spider-man. A second after the first rocket shot out, it was a few yards in front of its sender.

She shot. It exploded. Stilt-man was caught in the unexpected force of the explosion and he was thrown out and over the river.

The Wasp and Spider-man saw the monstrous figure hit the water with a big splash. They both knew that the armor would bring the killer down into the depth, but neither of them cared for the murderer's safety.

They won. _THEY WON!_

Suddenly Spider-man turned his head towards the ambulances.

His sense tingled madly—something was disastrously wrong. The Wasp, who must have spotted the danger, raced towards the area with Spider-man behind her. There on the ground was an unexploded rocket. Its sides were spitting out sparks. _IT WAS GOING TO EXPLODE!_

The rescue workers were going to die. The Wasp and Spider-man continued their dive towards the bomb. Both heroic figures thought to throw it away from the bridge. But when the sparks increased in brightness and they hadn't yet laid hands on it yet, they thought that they also were going to die.

Suddenly, a white and blue blur flew over the bomb. Spider-man and Jan, in her normal height, hit the floor where they last saw the bomb. The next second, there was an explosion in the air, far away from the bridge.

Jan got up with a bruised shoulder and saw the wide, muscular back of Captain America looking into the direction of the blast.

The Wasp screamed "Cap. Cap…. You saved us."

She turned him around and wrapped her arms around him. At that unguarded moment Jan couldn't help noticing how big, and muscular, and… GOOD his body felt against hers.

She barely noticed the flashes coming from the sides—the photo flashes from two News Helicopters and a steady light above them coming from a TV News Chopper.

All she could think about was this hunk of a super-stud in her arms. She pulled back to look into those dreamy eyes that she always loved. Her heart was pumping quickly and her lower region was emitting a primitive, animalistic evidence of her desire.

She brought her face close to his, but he nervously pulled his head back. That was a great turn-on for her. Wearing a sensual grin, she grabbed the back of his head and brought it forward to her. She wet her lips. Then she sucked in her bottom lip. It was all primal instincts, but a part of her wanted to torture him into a sexual frenzy… he would be rewarded for it, in time. Like in six long seconds, or so.

She forced her smiling lips into the shape of an open-mouth kiss. Her legs straddled his right leg and she pressed womanhood against his thigh. Her lips moved in slowly to torture and reward.

Suddenly something broke the exciting sexual spell that she was in. From the corner of her eye Jan saw a huge red figure. She turned, but when she faced that direction, it was gone. She hadn't yet released the back of Steve's head when she realized that it wasn't her imagination.

"Oh, my God," she said with a gasp slightly above a whisper. "Hank."


	9. Chapter 9: Moving From The Day Of Rest

Chapter 9: Moving From The Day of Rest to Monday

Earlier this Sunday evening, Iron Man had not answered Captain America's assemble-signal. He had left his Avengers Monitor in his bedroom. That was a very human error that resulted from hastening. The hurrying, in turn, was due to a very human alarm over a faithful friend and employee. As soon he heard about Harold "Happy" Hogan's one-sided encounter with a departing employee from Stark's Science Development Division, he ran out of his Suffolk County waterfront mansion, jumped into his car and zoomed to Mather Memorial Hospital, in Port Jefferson.

_It would be for less than an hour_, he thought when he reached the hospital driveway and remembered that he had left the communicator behind. What harm would it do? Besides, there were four other capable members of the group who would be there to solve any problems.

Tony Stark had wealth-a-plenty. He had a sapphire-blue, customized 1965 Shelby Cobra Daytona sports car since March. And as of this date, June 21, 1964, it still wouldn't be available to luxury car dealers for another 3 months. He had invitations to every high society party for years. What he didn't have was the patience to go around the small Mather Hospital parking lot to find a parking spot a second time.

Tony turned off the ignition of his "muscle" car in front of the main entrance of the hospital. It stretched across the top of the painted letters "NO PARKING." A janitor for the hospital had finished his work tour and was heading home when he recognized the tycoon. He offered his assistance to the multi-millionaire. Having little interest in anything else but his pal, Stark flipped him the keys and said, "I hope you're good at babysitting."

Minutes ago, Happy had finished undergoing x-rays for possible skull damage. He was being wheeled to his room when Tony caught up with him in the hallway. Staying to chit-chat, Tony appeared upbeat in front of his trusted chauffer. As he prepared his _goodnight, _Tony wanted to add a lighthearted dig.

"This is the second time in almost two months that you ended up here, at Mather. If you want a vacation, just say so, big fella."

"Like I said, I'm okay, boss. Just a knot on my head. In my ring years, that was sort of a crown of achievement saying that I survived the fight. Listen, I can get out of here and drive you—"

"Whoa, pal. No, you don't. You stay here for the night, get your x-ray results, and rest. Tomorrow, if there are no after-effects from your head wound, you can come out. Then I want to send you and your empty skull on a five-day vacation to the place of your choice. I'll pick up the tab."

"Don't need it, really."

"I'm still in charge, Hap. What I say goes, understand?" Tony winked and left the room.

Walking down the hallway, his cheery demeanor melted away to reveal a grim face. People in the elevator and corridors sneaked a side-eye admiration at the strong, confident strider who hid nearly a bottle of bourbon inside of his system. Some thought that his face looked familiar; others recognized him as the world's most enviable man. But all-in-all, only Tony Stark could pull off a quick clothing assemblage and still look great.

The local police lieutenant joined Tony as he walked out of the front door.

The officer took a deep breath and nervously addressed the man whose considerable financial influence could move a Town Council to fire cops.

"We contacted the Hauppauge Police, sir. They went to Herman Schultz' rented home and they found nothing but the furniture that the landlord had provided for him. He and his stuff are gone."

"As I suspected," Tony said as he approached his sleek Shelby Cobra that gave off a magnificent shine under an overhead driveway light. Tony smiled at the off-duty hospital worker who volunteered to look after his expensive toy.

Turning back to the police officer, Tony said, "Thank you for your efforts, Lieutenant. Since Mr. Shultz took a weapon that was supposed to be sold to the government, he has stolen a highly sensitive National Defense property. Obviously, the Federal Government has enlisted the FBI to look into this; so any info that you can contribute to the Feds would be appreciated. …. Good night, sir."

The sports car's door closed and Tony took out of his wallet the first two bills that his fingers could pinch. He snuck a bill of _twenty_ and another of _ten_ into the guardian's hand within a handshake.

Driving away, Tony smirked. Besides the FBI, Iron Man was going to get involved. And when the legendary hero gets his hands on the coward who turned that weapon on Happy …

* * *

At the 59th Street Bridge, Captain America stepped back from the Wasp. He followed the Wasp's stare, only to find no one. Perhaps she wasn't looking at anyone— she was just remembering "Hank." He didn't know who Hank was, but he'd bet his life that it was his Avenger buddy, Giant-Man. Funny how that sounded: _he bet his life._ For all he knew, if Giant-Man got a hold of him right then, there would've been nothing for him to bet.

Whistles and cheers came from a small number of the newly arriving cops who leaped out of four vans. These noise-makers appeared not to have fully processed the damages and deaths.

"Allll right, Cap," one cheered. Another said, "You two go. I can let you have my apartment for the night, you know."

Jan hid her face in her hands and then disappeared. She flew as fast as she could away from the scene.

"It's not like that guys," Cap said. "Come, on. There were so many emotions going through her. She was upset and relieved and confused, at the same time."

"Yeah," one cop shouted. "Upset that you two didn't do it, relived that you didn't push her away and confused that—"

"_Shut up!_ That's enough. I mean it. You have dead police officers on this bridge and B.S. is all you can think about? Good God, aren't you ashamed that you've lost all decency?!"

The men were suddenly embarrassed into a solemn frame of mind. Those who were the first responders were grateful for Cap's words. One who had no need of Captain America's reprimand was the young, lone figure who hung high up on a vertical supporting cable from his feet. He assumed a baseball catcher's squat to keep him upright. This youth was trying to sort it all out.

There was the unnecessary slaughter, the desperation, the victory, and now the apparent betrayal. Perhaps in the time it took for four quick, repetitive eye blinks, the thing happened: Giant-man appeared, saw the Wasp and Cap, and then vanished. … That couldn't be good.

Peter remembered months ago sitting with Aunt May in front of the TV after the Avengers stopped the Lava Men invasion. Captain America, Giant-Man and The Wasp were sitting with Tony Stark during a live press conference. While Cap and the normal-sized Giant-man were answering the majority of questions, the camera occasionally caught something off to the side. Aunt May remarked that the Avengers' financier and the Wasp were having inappropriate moments with themselves during a serious session.

Peter also felt uneasy when he spotted the two leaning into each other and giggling. Aunt May was especially _irked_ when the faces of Stark and the Wasp were inches away from each other and she put her index finger on his lips. If she wanted him to stop saying something, it didn't look like it—she was wrinkling her nose and grinning widely.

Spider-man sadly shook his head as he shot a line towards one of the bridge's supporting towers. He said to himself, "The Wasp was Giant-man's girl—everybody knew that. Well, maybe she was _everybody's_ girl, and the big guy had better know _**that**_."

From his reaction to the two affectionate Avengers, he was either a spineless enabler or an unsuspecting fool who was caught blindsided and retreated out of embarrassment.

As the youth cleared the bridge on the Queens side, he ignored the cheers from the folks below him. Peter Parker was lost in thought. He considered how he would feel if he found Betty with someone else.

_Devastated, humiliated, below worthless, dehumanized_ were only a few of the feelings that he could describe. Then it dawned on him. He always thought himself victimized by Betty's dumb jealous reaction to Liz Allen. Right then and there, Peter understood her insecurity, her fear. His self-view was turned around to look at it from Betty's eyes.

Part of him said that he should wait until morning. Betty had a hard day. After she had a restful sleep, then Peter would re-affirm to Betty that she was the only romantic love in his life. Another side said, _no— tell her tonight. The girl I love shouldn't spend another night burdened with these thoughts._

The inner battle continued in Peter's head for several blocks during his travel. Then a victor arose. The burst of speed in which he moved gave evidence as to which sentiment won.

* * *

Jan circled the Kurtzberg penthouse an innumerable amount of time. Part of her wanted to talk to Hank, to beg for his forgiveness. That was the brave part. Jan's cowardly half didn't want to go in there.

What would she say to Hank? Was this the end of them? Had she given Hank's sister, Erica, the ammunition to finally shoot down their relationship? He won't love her now, will he? Oh, why the f- - k did she attempt such a stupid, selfish, a- -hole thing, to begin with?

She said to herself, "Henry is a good man, a great catch. Millions of girls would stampede over my body for a chance to be his lover. One of them currently sleeps on the same floor where his bedroom is.

"I can't believe what I did. I'm such a stupid, stupid, _**stupid**_…."

If that hungry hawk that had chased her hours earlier appeared now, maybe Jan wouldn't even put up a fight.

She landed on the roof of the penthouse and sat down. She covered her face and sobbed loudly. She had no problem thinking about Henry when she needed help. But when it came to surrendering to animal lust, she wailed, "This wonderful man wasn't even in my thoughts."

"How could I hurt him this way? We had a great thing going. How could I just throw it all away? What's wrong with me? What the f- -k's wrong with me?"

* * *

Backtracking in time, when Spider-man began dodging Stilt-man's missiles in New York, in Washington, D. C., Erica Pym Collingsworth had her face and chest rammed against the side of a building.

"Don't move and you won't get hurt," a young male voice said.

After the initial fright and the self-reprimand for being careless, Erica began to think back to the family motto: _**solve this.**_ Now Erica was exceptionally strong, and at 5 foot, 11inches, she was tall for a woman. Depending on the hood's age, she could attempt to out-muscle him. But there was the question as to the type of the weapon that he held and that prompted his confidence to rob her? Was it a gun?

Only one forearm was pressing against her. So there HAD to be a weapon in that other hand, she figured. Judging from his voice he should be in his early to mid-teens and a novice at this. That was a calculation that could be wrong because criminals could start arming themselves as young as eight, but it was all she could go by right now.

Erica's eyes looked down at the rustling noise. A slim dark hand was going through her pocket book even as the straps were still around her shoulder. A second voice hurried him. Two against one, she reasoned… She _**hoped**_. Finding nothing but an ID and unsellable items, the first thug ripped the bag off of her and threw it on the ground. He cursed her for not having money, but her watch was going to be surrendered, if she knew what was good for her.

The two hoods began to go through her spring coat. One of them was sure to find her money in the inner lining. But that wasn't the big problem. Being a Pentagon official had one particular item-carrying privilege that she surely didn't want them to take away.

"Okay, okay," she said with an alarm that wasn't too far from the truth. 'I'll give you my watch and my money, just please give me room."

When the young thugs took a few steps back, she saw a cheap gun in one perpetrator's hand—at close range, it was still accurate. She visually measured the height of both thugs' heads and the distance between them. She took off her watch and then reached into her spring coat. The criminals' eyes were centered on the watch that she was extending to them with one hand. That was all she needed. Side-stepping the aim of the cheap gun, Erica whipped her own semi-automatic 9mm Beretta M 1951 pistol out and up from her under-arm holster. The metal handle was sticking out past her pinky and palm giving it a brass knuckle effect.

The gun handle made contact with a "crack" sound and the nearest thug's face jerked back as he dropped the watch and his weapon.

True to her assumption, he wasn't experienced; the first rule of a seasoned slime-ball thug was _never lose the gun_. The young piece of crap had dropped it in favor of using both hands to stop the blood from springing out of his nose.

The quick, ballet-like movement brought her spinning around to the front of the second hood. The same flow of movement that cracked the first fellow's nose hammered the gun against the nose of the wide-eyed, frozen-to-the-spot partner. Typical for slime that attack a woman from behind, the two creeps screamed out in pain like wimps and fell to their knees.

Erica knew combat strategies— sophisticated and primitive. Attackers, especially cowardly ones, always have a look-out. In a split second, she found the third partner. An older crap-eater— about twenty-five— was running towards her. He started to reach for something strapped to the back of his belt.

With lightening speed, the gun nozzle flipped and Erica was pointing the gun barrel at the oncoming threat. One quick shot to the knee sent the older attacker down. On his way down, the sewer rat's elbow went up and a small gun jumped out of his hand and into the air.

If it were a lighter movement, Mrs. Collingsworth would've tease that both the quick gun maneuver and the precision shot could be attributed to the growing up a Roy Rogers-Dale Evans fan … oh, and many hours at the practice range.

She wasn't going to hang around. Erica knew that Pentagon folks hated newspaper investigations into their employees. The sound of a gunshot was going to attract pedestrians and police. A police report— in itself, mercilessly time-consuming— invited nosey press people. Anyway, right now life was looking too precious to waste time with any of that.

Erica kicked the first attacker's gun into a sewer drain— she didn't want to be shot in the back as she rushed away. The other gun that belonged to the older creep had slid under a car, and it was doubtful that any of the three scums knew that.

She picked up her purse and her watch. As she began to walk away, Erica saw lights being turned on from behind tenement windows. She also heard an army of footsteps coming her way. The noise was, most likely, a crowd of thrill-seekers. Neither the people at the windows nor the on-comers would have lifted a finger to help her, but they were sure anxious to come for the entertainment value.

She ran towards the approaching crowd shouting, "Someone, call the police. Those three guys were shooting at each other."

She had put her hands on her face during her act, leaving only her eyes and forehead exposed. It was supposed to appear like a reflex action of fear and astonishment— she hoped it was convincing. It was. No one saw, nor was anyone interested, in her facial features. The people just zipped by her after she added more fuel to their entertainment desire.

As Erica predicted, two foot patrolmen were racing towards the area where the gunshot rang out. Erica stepped in front of them repeating her act . She explained to the police that one of the guns used in the violence could be found under an old car; third car from the corner, to be exact.

She thought it was unwise to over-explain. They should know not to smear the fingerprints on the gun with their careless handling. As the police sped off, she continued her long walk back to the hospital.

_That little adventure was nerve wrecking, but it ended well,_ she sighed. It took a while, but during her walk, Erica's heart returned to a calmer beat and she was able to focus on the pleasant near-future.

She thought that the Pentagon, no doubt, would give Barry and Erica a leave of absence after his stroke. They needed to get away, Erica decided. Hmm, the ever-busy other man in her life needed some time off also, if she knew him (which she did for all of his 26 years). When Barry could manage walking, Erica was going to take him and Henry somewhere. They weren't the lay-in-the-beach type, so…

_**Hey, the New York World's Fair!**_ It was a change from Arlington, Virginia and Washington, D.C. And it solved Hank's problem of not liking airplane travel. The Fair was perfect. Yeah, they'll both probably make excuses not to go. But even when the two had teamed up, Erica always managed to get her way.

She looked at her watch as she came to the entrance of the hospital. She thought Nee had probably finished getting information from the scum who had tried to kill him. Unlike Erica, Henry looked like he had taken the incident in stride. Erica wanted to phone him and tell him of her idea, but decided against it. He was probably in his bed sleeping comfortably like a baby.

* * *

The borough of Brooklyn was situated on the southern part of the same land mass that hosted Queens. Just north of the forgotten Brooklyn Navel Yard, there was an undeveloped land where the river's wave slapped against the shore's cold, hard rocks. Because the lonely area saw no use, the only available lights came from the river reflecting the lights from Manhattan. It was an unlikely place for Dr. Henry Pym, but there he was.

Minutes before midnight, the two-inch Avenger sat on a rock. His knees were up to chin level. Hank's forearms were placed on top of his knees. His eyes hid themselves behind his forearms.

It was a good thing that he left the bridge quickly. His first impulse was to… he couldn't believe it … smash their heads together. That primitive compulsion was subdued under the thin ice of reason, but his heavy sorrow could not be restrained by an ocean-full of logic.

The dark, deserted riverside area could be home to rodents. Pity the stupid rat who thought that the Ant-man was an easy meal. At this point in time, Hank was a hair-width away from a rampage that would rival any of the Hulk's worst flare-ups.

Several times his head rose and went down hard on his forearms as if he was castigating himself. He asked, what had he done to deserve this betrayal? Why did she do it?

His mind was the second betrayer as his imagination dragged his thoughts where his normally rational mind refused to tread. Things that could not be proven as factual became real.

Visions of her gasping out pleasurable noises while riding on top of Steve violently ripped through his mind. How many times did those two do it? Did they talk about him after they did it? Did they laugh at the faithful, but totally foolish clown who thought that he had her love?

"Lab work and obligations limited our time together," he said holding back the tears. "But I never let her believed that there was anyone else but her."

But it came down to the really simple conclusion: Cap, … the other men that she had flirted with, were more exciting to Jan than he was.

Hank raised his eyes to search for the moon. Jan had used the moon earlier as an incentive for a romantic get-together. Appropriately, the moon veiled herself now. Her silvery light weakly seeped through clouds, leaving him in almost darkness. But even if it left him in pitch black, if didn't compare with the dark despair that was inside of his heart.

Hank hated himself—he should have taken that moon-lit stroll with Jan. He should have spent more time with Jan. He should have never complimented Yolanda Vanko.

Maybe there was still time. Maybe he could still win her back. Yes, he'd fight for her affection. It was all his fault, after, all. He'd … He'd…

Henry stopped. In his head he heard Erica; it was a culmination of past verbal confrontations.

_Should he fight for Jan?_ Why. This wasn't the first time her affections wandered. If he beat out Steve Rodgers there would always be the next secret lover.

Erica was right— no one who lived that life-style fully changes her ways even after proclaiming her commitment to a partner. The search for thrills, for the departure from the constant, would eventually call to her. Come to think of it, when Tony Stark came to the Avengers mansion as his playboy persona, Jan never felt repulsed by his guttery innuendos the way Hank did. Maybe in secluded moments, Jan and Tony took time out to share more than just a low class humor.

Hank shook his head, not wanting to think about it. How could that be proven? But one thing was sure— he was a fool for not listening to his older sister.

Hank' head continued hearing those month-old talks with Erica. _What had he done to cause this?_ He had to stop beating himself up. Erica had known many good and faithful spouses that ravaged themselves and took on all the blame. But it was the wayward partner who was the culprit— no one forces another to cheat. If Jan was unhappy she could have done the honorable thing and called off the relationship. She didn't… she preferred to skank-around behind his back.

_What if he abandoned everything else for her, and got a lesser-paying job that would free-up more time for them to be together?_ Erica had recounted a similar sacrifice that an FBI Supervisor went through. His wandering-eyes-wife ultimately left him for someone who made as much money as he previously did.

At least he and Jan weren't married. Even more important, they didn't have children.

Again, the image of the Jan and Steve being intimate daggered his mind. Again, he had to repress his savage anger. He had to cast away images of the proposed brutality that he could have easily inflicted upon them. It was good that he left. Very good.

Okay, Hank made mistakes, but he was a good man. He deserved better than Jan. This was just the push he needed to do what he should have done long ago. It was time for him to be a man and break away from Jan.

He would regain his dignity, and besides, it made all the sense in the world. Still, dignity and logic were no healing balms for a destroyed heart.

He buried his face in his hands. The manly dam broke and a current of tears gushed out, unstoppable. His devastation was apparently infectious. The clouds released their own tears. The tiny figure was oblivious to the droplets that were striking him. He could do little, but rock himself where he sat. And between sobs repeated, "Jan … Jan."

* * *

Miles to the south from where Ant-man was lost in sorrow was the Brighton Beach section of Brooklyn. It also had strips of unused land. Wild bushes sprang up just yards away from the joining of the East River to the Atlantic Ocean. After a 4 minute rain shower, Wilbur Day immerged from the bushes. His soggy exercise outfit could be explained away by the recent rain, but that wasn't the cause.

His eyes had conditioned themselves to the darkness. He looked back to the area where his powerful metallic boot had dug into the dirt and rocks. Wilbur was satisfied that he had buried his secret well enough. He had arranged the surrounding rocks to form a marker for the eventual retrieval of his armor.

Wilbur was weary, but still determined. Stilt-man would return, but with changes. The propellers under his boots were installed because he envisioned a river escape in his original plan—the take-down of that worm, Reginald Kaxton. It worked brilliantly tonight, so they will stay. The explosives…. Well, his hydraulic legs were just as destructive, but far more predictable than those damned missiles. One of his own explosives hurled him into the water; how humiliating. Then he had to find a way to keep the ability of electrifying his armor without straining his battery. That fight with Spider-man took longer than he had planned. In minutes, the power drainage would have resulted in Spider-man's victory.

In the bigger picture, Wilbur would return to his original plan. He'd get the Molecular Condenser back from Kaxton. It belonged to Wilbur— he masterfully stole the proto-type from Vanko's workshop, after all. Then the Stilt-man will turn it on Kraxton. After him, The Wasp and Spider-man will get their just desserts.

He walked towards the passing headlights on the distant road. He dipped into his jogging pants pocket for change to take the subway home. The tired man's steps became invigorated as he went through his plans in his head repeatedly.

* * *

The Green Goblin had silently made a hole in the second floor bedroom window of Gregor Shapanka's modest house. It was big enough for him to reach in and undo the window's lock. In seconds, he pulled his glider's "wings" close and it hummed into the room. The vehicle descended to the floor and the intruder stepped off. After adjusting a dial on the side of his belt and another on the back his right glove, his index finger could now shoot a skin-burning, muscle-paralyzing "Goblin Flare." He had great accuracy within 10 yards; and above average results at 15 yards.

The Goblin froze, attempting to hear some activity that gave evidence of Gregor's presence. He heard nothing. He took an eye patch equipped with an inferred lens out of his bag. He slipped it over his head. Now he could see in the dark— he wasn't going to give away his location by turning on room lights. He carefully walked through the darken upper hallway and checked the two adjacent rooms. Again, he found no one.

He moved stealthy down the stairs, as he headed to the lit living room. His boots pressed down slowly on each of the step. In the event that the stairs began to creak, he'd lift up his foot and try the next step.

The Goblin peaked into the living room and found one of two desk lamps on. But again, there was no sign of Shapanka.

He searched the remaining areas of the house with growing frustration. Finally his anger could not be contained— he kicked open the door leading to the small garage.

Where was that miserable pile of… ? Wait, the note pad he originally dismissed. It was on the kitchen table.

The mask he wore fit tightly against the bottom of his face for the purpose of providing a chilling realism. The man's mouth movements were strikingly copied by the mouth of the mask. At that moment his face depicted a satanic grin. Among the almost intelligible writings on the pad were a "UA" number and a gate number. The Goblin used the kitchen phone to call up United Airlines 24-hour service center. The flight in question had left LaGuardia Airport at 4:40 PM., bound for Washington, D.C.

Even if the inventor wasn't there, the Goblin still had a target. The green menace was going to find the blueprints to Shapanka's freeze gun. Starting again from the bedroom, the Goblin turned over drawers. Knifed upholstery looked for secret compartments in walls and closet.

He was in the kitchen, huffing mightily, with his back to the living room. Suddenly, the living room light shut off. He turned around ready to strike, but there was no one there. The light was on a timer, he figured. Using his inferred vision he found it. What a joke—why would a supposedly great inventor use a simplistic store-bought timer?

There was a notable difference between the unmasked Norman Osborn and the demon-faced Goblin when boiling anger reached a spill-over point. The first man would cuss and yell and throw things about in releasing his frustration. The other, the Goblin, tilted his head back and let out an unearthly, ghoulish laugh as he turned around to see the fruits of his unsuccessful search. He was surrounded by a junk heap.

This wreckage was nice, but hardly the calling card worthy of the Green Goblin. It was a small effort to return to the timer and open its compartment. He then "fixed" it so that when it was next activated, it would shoot out sparks. He reset the timer for twenty minutes— 2:10 AM. Reflecting on the time, he thought. _I've been here too_ _long._

The Goblin then moved to the kitchen, kicking away from himself the debris that he had caused. The demented man lifted the stovetop up, extinguished the point light and then opened all the valves on the stove and oven.

The Goblin nearly danced his way back up to the bedroom where his glider waited for him. He sang in a moderate voice:

"Gregor, Gregor, you damn idiot, Gregor.

Could have been rich, now I'll make you a beggar.

You were smart and invincible, you had thought.

But oh, the disaster upon you, you brought.

I'll torture the sanity out of your head

When I'm finish with you, you'll wish you were dead."

The Goblin mounted the glider and made it pass the window into the warm night air. He didn't seem bothered at the prospect of being seen. As he lifted off into the sky he concluded,

"Refused my offer, didn't you Shapanka?

That's like ocean swimming tied to an anka.

You'll find yourself drowning- WAIT!

"ANKA?! No, no that will not do. I need to stop making limericks on the fly."

It then occurred to him. He looked down on the houses that began to shrink before his eyes.

"On the fly," he eerily howled as he soared away. "That was a good one."

* * *

The Wasp had spent almost hour sitting and wailing on the penthouse rooftop. She finally mustered the courage to go inside and talk to Hank. She had to apologize for blanking out their relationship in her mind and acting like an alley cat.

She zipped in through the window that she had left slightly open when she first ventured toward the bridge. She got to the bathroom and quickly discarded the Wasp uniform that was involved with in that disgraceful, heartless act.

Jan looked into the mirror. She noticed that she had dark circles under her very red eyes. She had to fix that. No wait, she thought. Wouldn't this appearance be proof of her deep regret? Yeaaah— that had to soften Hank.

Jan quickly showered with the finest scented body wash. She dried herself and put on a skin-colored, thin negligee. She rushed out of the room, rehearsing her remorseful presentation. If it were possible, she would look sadder than her face appeared. Yeah, that should win him ov-.

_Wait._ _That's nuts,_ she told herself. She already was fearing the end of her world.

Her heart was pounding as she tiptoed to his bedroom door. Every imaginable negative scenario passed through her mind. But she had to do it. She couldn't just live here and ignore him every minute of the day? … eh, she _**hoped**_ that she could still be living here.

She knocked gently at his door. After seconds that seemed like hours, she knocked louder.

"Henry? Henry, dearest, are you in there?"

She knew that his door was always unlocked. She turned the knob and entered. His bed looked as kept as if the house keepers left the room seconds ago. The attached bathroom showed no light coming through its slightly opened door.

Jan raced down to the laboratory floor. Lab F still had the lights on. She knocked and repeated his name as sweetly as she could. No answer. She could have tried again, but she went back to her room. Some thirty seconds later, with her Wasp hood on, Jan enacted her shrinking ability. The negligee-wearing Jan was on her hands and knees moving under the door and into the room.

The Lab was as desolate as the growing, fearful emptiness in her heart. She regained her normal size and walked out into the dim hallway. If Hank had allowed alcohol in the home, and if she hadn't finished the stronger-than-the-typical vermouth that she sneaked into her room, she would have slugged down a few glasses. She made a quick trip up to her room and retrieved her bathrobe.

She returned to the first floor where she typed "record 000 unimpeded" into the main controls by the foyer. This allowed every access into the penthouse to be monitored and she would be alerted as to Hank's arrival. Jan sat on the couch and rolled herself into a ball. She was relived a bit. She now had more time to rehearse her pleas.

Then something disturbing entered her mind. If the roles were reversed, Jan would probably do something stupid to get revenge. It was a good thing that Hank had a moral upbringing. Despite being awfully hurt, he'd never visit a brothel.

No, he wouldn't. No…. Oh God, please no.

* * *

Back at Freeport, Long Island , a rotund, middle-aged, unshaven man wearing only his pajama bottoms was in the middle of the street. He was waving a police car to a stop. The driver's side window rolled down.

"Off-a-sa, I saw it, but my wife won't believe me. I saw a witch ridin' da sky on a big bat."

The driver turned his face away due to the man's breath.

"You've been drinking , sir?" the officer asked as he stepped out.

The man frowned, "Yeah, so? I drink in my house, that's no crime."

At this point the policeman on the passenger side got out to join the driver. They surrounded the chubby, half-naked man. The officers asked him his name. The citizen complained that his name had nothing to do with reporting his observation.

Suddenly the air screamed with the sound of an explosion. The ground surrendered a small shake. The trio looked all around them. Then they saw an unnatural illumination about two blocks away. By the time the other home-owners on the block opened their windows to investigate, smoke was rising into the night sky.

The rotund man's eyes widened as he gasp, "…The witch!"

* * *

Post Scripts:

_30 dollars in 1964 :_ One can use the internet to obtain prices of certain items from the 1960s. Today the same things are priced at 16.7 to 19 times higher. Translated into today's currency value, Tony Stark handed a hospital worker who watched over his car more than $500 (not bad for less than an hour's work).

_Mrs. Collingsworth:_ Perhaps you may find a number of 5 foot, 11 inch women today, but back in mom's days, Erica's height was considered rare for a female.

If her heroics took the reader by surprise, turn back to Chapter One where Erica was introduced as a former C.I.A. agent.

_The second time Happy Hogan was in the hospital:_ This story takes place weeks after Happy's hospitalization in Tales of Suspense # 56 (1964). At that time he tried to stop the Unicorn's intrusion into Stark Industries.

_Thanks and Apologies:_ Personal time restraints have forced me to suspend this writing. My deepest thanks to the few (actually VERY few) faithful readers of this story. I am writing this on September 7, '12. Hope you think that _**Vanko & Pym, Inc: BOOK ONE**_ will be worth the wait, because the collection of villains, along with Hank, Jan, Peter, and especially Paige and Sam will return sometime in November '12. Again, many thanks.


	10. Chapter 10: Good Night and Good Morning

Chapter 10: Good Night And Good Morning.

His eyes were as red as the sky was dark; his tear ducts were as dry as the air was humid. His mind had wearied itself running a marathon of thoughts that sprinted between the betrayal of the heartbreaking witch and his retaliatory options— meaning, the how and where he planned the break-up. It was time for Henry Pym to castoff the self-pity, act like a man, and go home. _**Less tears to**__**cry, more sweat to solve it**_**,** as the Pym family motto went.

On the way back to his home, the Ant-man forced himself to think about other things. Guilt was an inevitable result. He was a full grown man preoccupied only with a wayward lover when there, on the 59th Street Bridge's roadway, laid deformed dead bodies of policemen. What type of a tunnel vision, self-centered buffoon was he? How could his loss compare to that of the children who will be told that daddy will never come home again. No wonder he couldn't keep a female's inter- _Damn it._ That's not where his stupid mind should have been going.

But a mind attempting to focus away from a dilemma perhaps takes more side streets then one that is free to wonder. The horrific images left behind on the floor of the bridge reminded Hank about … THAT picture. The photo that Erica had given him after the press conference where talks of the Lava Men adventure moved to Hank's fiery denouncement of the Sons of the Serpent. It was that image that haunted him before he went to sleep for weeks. It was that picture that should have torpedoed him into action. But protective Big Sister always managed to pull the rug out from under him. Now with the possibility of the SOTS coming up north to meet him straight on, the novice had better learn how to conduct his own march. He'd better have a plan to take it to this new type of enemy, before they arrived here to spread their terror. And whining over a worthless lover was a distraction from getting that done.

In all, he used seventeen different winged carriers to make it to the Kurtzberg Building. The eighteenth ant came from his garden patio. She picked him up from atop the main lobby's canopy and together they flew upward.

The hum under Henry's mask was getting louder as his Apocritaic elevator neared his 4-story abode. This particular signal from his cybergentic circuits meant that someone had set the alarm to the penthouse. It was probably Jan. She wanted to know when he was coming home, no doubt. The angered Hank was determined not to give her even that courtesy.

Hank was one of those males who would lose his keys at the most inappropriate time. When things were good with Jan, she had always took delight in launching razor-sharp derision at him for that flaw. Sensing his quiet objections, Jan would further reprimand him— _**stop pouting like a baby, it was just playful teasing.**_ Henry's ego had look to circumvent his handicaps with secret safeguards. And secrecy was important or else the ridiculer would the target the safeguards.

Covertly, Henry built into his head devise a remote control cell that could slide a security bolt on a window or a door to an open position. The cell also caused the sensors of the alarm to temporarily deactivate around his chosen point of entry.

The ant and her rider made it to the ledge outside of his bedroom. The rest was easy. As soon as the six foot, one inch hero's foot hit the carpet, his mind unexpectedly drifted in a previously uncharted direction. Hank thought that there had to be a better method of traveling other than burdening ants. Maybe it was spurred on by the decision to separate from the future Ex- , as she was independent of insect transports.

Wings were an option, but not the type that he implanted on a certain unmentionable. He couldn't bring himself to trust someone else to perform such a delicate operation on him. What the hell— Hank was too tired to continue thinking. All he wanted was a quick shower and sleep.

Perhaps those terrible images on the 59th Street Bridge would come back, but Henry was resolved. One— as cold as it sounded— he couldn't help the dead. Two, the betrayer wasn't worth a sleepless night. She had reminded him of his beloved Maria, but that didn't mean that she had the equivalent worth of even 1/1000th of his late wife. His mind and emotions were the first things that he had to control to initiate the final cutting away from the toxic relationship.

When he took off his costume, he felt a bit lightheaded; that could make showering a dangerous proposition. Hank instantly diagnosed this as dehydration. With the day's many issues, he had forgotten to periodically drink liquids. Two glasses of orange juice and a ten minute sit-down would do the trick, for now.

On his way to the kitchen, Hank passed the living room. He was taken back when he saw the source of his embarrassment and pain sleeping on the sofa. He stopped in front of her.

* * *

Wanda Maximoff couldn't sleep. The reception that she and her brother received after thwarting the airplane's hijacker still resounded in her head. It was thrilling, to say the least. For the first time in a long time, the outsiders hadn't looked upon Pietro and Wanda as dangerous beings. For the first time in years, the duo weren't tense and ready to strike back at the earliest provocation.

_That was a glimpse of an easier life,_ she thought with a sigh. _It was a life of encouragement, unity, and cheers. We all enjoyed a sort of kinship, even if it was short-lived._

How could that have been? Well, for one, the Homo Sapiens did not know that the pair were Homo Superiors. Still, Wanda questioned would the differences in their DNA have mattered? They were cheered for taking down a common threat. Maybe looking out for the mutual good was all that was necessary for outsiders to accept mutants.

Magneto had said that the path to war between the two worlds was carved out in destiny. War and the following servitude of non-mutant to their superiors were essential for mutant-kind's survival on this savage planet. Wanda wasn't a stranger to the bigotry that Magneto had described. She also understood that being 25 years her senior, he had suffered these persecutions more years than Wanda had been alive.

Terrible experiences that could not, or would not be forgotten would bury from view the similarities that could be used as a foundation for reconciliation. It was easy for her to say, of course, since she hadn't seen all the horrible evils that the older mutants had endured. Still, if the options were to march into war or extending a very guarded handshake, Wanda knew which choice led to fewer burials on both sides.

On a vain thought, Wanda couldn't forget the thrill of being championed. The moon light stretching in through her window had sufficiently illuminated her room. She looked up at the bed room ceiling. It became a screen and her mind was a projector replaying the celebration and offers to dine with so many grateful strangers. …. The images of camaraderie with non-mutants were entertaining company. They kept her from missing the sleep that, while looking for her, had gotten lost somewhere in the night.

In the adjoining room, Pietro frowned as he dug the right side of his face into his pillow. Why was he thinking about those … vile creatures. Their embraces and back-patting meant nothing. They were what they were, and they won't change.

This was going to be a _looong _night. It was bad enough that Wanda's brother had to deal with their kind during the day. Now at night, encircling visions of their deceitful praises—praises that were meant to bring his guard down— were haunting him and chasing away the preferred embrace of sleep. Pietro scrunched his eyelids together trying to forget about those … detestable creatures.

* * *

The sun would rise within the hour. The muscular, animal-trait enhanced Kraven, the hunter had finished his second night of leaps from rooftop to rooftop. Like any great hunter, he had to learn the terrain, the theatre where the hunt would take place. He made it to the top of towering, Plaza Hotel. Kraven gave a sentimental look at the greenery of Central Park, just across the street, and then he turned. He opened the roof door that he had jammed hours ago. The stairs brought his gazelle-quick feet to the desired floor. Stepping into his shared suite, his incredible Congo Grass Owl hearing picked up the snore of his lazy co-conspirator in the other room.

Let the Chameleon sleep. Thus far his information gathering had been most useful. There will be time after the hunt when he can shake the weakling off like a bull elephant shakes off a speck of dirt.

* * *

Yoland Vanko found herself in a chilly blackened cave. Just yards away, a spotlight was forcefully cutting its way down through the darkness to touch the ground of dirt and gravel. She immediately ran towards it. Accompanying the light closely was a climbable portion of the cave's earthen wall. Standing under its warmth, the light summoned her. The nearby wall that led straight up promised her a climb towards the inviting puffy clouds, warm clean air and safety.

The need of ascension increased in urgency when she heard the disturbance of graveled ground at the darker end of the cave. The chopping noise screamed out the running of a menace coming up behind her. Though the cave was void of light, she somehow knew who it was. Her hands and feet desperately dug into areas on the cave wall to enable her to climb up. The on-comer finally left out an exposing, bone-chilling snarl. His human voice morphed into an animal's growl, demanding her blood.

Halfway up, she could hear her assassin begin the climb also. He was just seconds behind her. Yolanda's rate of ascension was good, but the murderous pants under her were becoming louder.

Yolanda was only an arm reach away from the surface, when he grabbed her right leg. She turned back and she could see him. Milos Masaryk was wearing his tower-horn Unicorn helmet. His mouth resembled that of a ravenous bear. His wicked smile showed the sharp teeth that would soon be her undoing. He pulled her back down to himself. Yolanda turned towards the sunny blue sky, towards her salvation. She screamed, "NOOO!"

Yolanda would not give up and die. She purposely allowed her upper body to slide back down towards the snarling demon. This was necessary in order to bend her knee. Then, with all her might, she kicked down into the face of the predator. The killer's grip loosened. The young woman again faced the liberating sky. She screamed as a sharp pain ripped through her calf.

She reasoned, _Masaryk's accursed Unicorn ray— no, my father's Unicorn ray._ It was used to stop her. Yolanda's scream increased, mirroring the heightening of the pain. She wondered, if she looked back would she find anything resembling her leg?

Yolanda did look back, but her eyes found bed sheets wrapped around her leg. The horrifying darkness was chased away by protective morning light. Her scream was then wrapped in embarrassment as she discovered that the pain that she felt was not caused by a destructive light beam, but from the muscle cramp that Americans called a "Charley Horse." It must have resulted from the air conditioning and her quick leg movement to kick away the phantom menace. Well, disregarding common sense eating also contributed. Taking Jan's recent badgering to heart, Yolanda attempted to go on a crash diet. Her brilliant mind ignored the fact that a lack of potassium and calcium would result in these muscle cramps. Her brilliant mind now also scolded her for being influenced by that Van Dyne creature… How stupid of her.

Yolanda hissed as that was only way to stop her screams. She pulled away the covers. Soon the sense of embarrassment took a back seat to the relentless pain that froze her foot in a pointed toes position.

Yolanda's mother, Olesya, had taught her about the value of wood in relieving this pain. She spun her rear on the mattress quickly and placed her toes on the bed's head board. As the pain decreased, she was able to place more of her foot's surface on the wood until the heel-to-headboard contact signaled the end of the muscle-freeze.

She closed her eyes and laughed— partially in relief that the terror she had experienced seconds ago wasn't real. Her laugh also reflected the embarrassment over foolishly yelling like she had. Hopefully, her cry didn't reach Henry's room, only three doors away. Yolanda sat up to massage the pain from her sore calve, but she was only causing herself more pain. She lay flat on the bed again, covering her lingering giggles with her hands.

Miss Yanko turned to her window. The sight that had become a morning ritual greeted her. A block away, a tall building announced the rising of the sun with orange-yellow light on its side. On her back, waiting for the soreness to pass, Yolanda thought about her dream. She knew what fueled it.

Days ago, one of the informers that Henry inherited from Erica picked up an underworld buzz. The KGB was renewing their hunt for a living relative of the late Anton Vanko. The likelihood for success was almost comical as Tony Stark, Henry Pym and U.S. intelligence were days ahead and miles in front of them. Still, secret agents were looking for American hoodlums who could lead them to her father's former guard. Once he was brought out of hiding, the soon-to-be- obsolete Unicorn would be assigned to act upon any verifiable lead.

Many in her old world said that vivid dreams were premonitions of things to come. In her own experiences, very few turned out to be harbingers of the future. Still, what if this dream is one of those "very few"?

_Oh, such ridiculousness,_ he chided. She had better things to do than entertain those silly thoughts. She jumped out of bed, and put on her robe. Ignoring her aching calve, she rushed to the elevator. Her destination—Lab E— was just one floor below her. To her surprise, with each step, the pain decreased.

Inside of the laboratory, she found her big project a few yards in front of her. Yolanda turned away from the main reason she came there. Yolanda turned to the table on her right where a much smaller, but ultimately more profitable venture sat. Perhaps Dr. Pym wasn't fully ready to act when he talked about entering the private market with his inventions. Certainly, Yolanda didn't like the idea that his time invested in Giant-Man would suffer. She still wanted to share adventures with him.

Still, the two talked about a joint venture into a business. As a starter, they worked together on a revolutionary, small alarm clock. "Digital" he called it.

It was a thin, black, hard plastic contraption that was a bit longer than her index finger. The two inch-high numbers that boldly stated the timewas proof that it could maintain itself overnight without batteries. Yolanda couldn't help but jump and applaud like a child at a circus.

Besides its carry-along size, the independent sustainability was a great purchase incentive— that was good enough to cover mistakes from packing-frenzy behavior for trips.

AM/FM radio capability and Hank's "Doze" timer were checked yesterday. Test four had to address the essential. Yolanda put in the two AAA-sized batteries and set the alarm for 7:55 AM. At 8 the TV program, Captain Kangaroo was on CBS-TV. The pre-school children's show gave her some ideals that she could employ when she volunteered at the Happy Valley Day Care Center. Unfortunately, she always remembered to tune in when the show was half over. Starting this day, Monday June 22, things were going to be different. Yolanda smiled expectantly as she put the clock in her robe's pocket.

Then the brilliant young woman turned around to approach her first prize. She faced the glass encasing that looked more like a giant, six foot high test tube turned upside down. Inside of it was the nearly completed Unicorn armor that she designed for herself.

If there was one good thing about living with Janet Van Dyne, it was the residue benefits that came from her aspiration. The older female was intent on taking the fashion world by storm under the company name Dyne Designs. Jan had a few mannequins that she worked on. When Jan discarded an older plastic model, Yolanda snatched it up. Now in her laboratory, the mannequin showed off the new helmet and body armor of her version of the Unicorn. Yolanda's left cheek rolled up in a sign of dissatisfaction over the armor's original metal alloy color.

But beyond her critique, there was an inner assurance. If Masaryk thought that he was going after an easy victim, she'd show him the error of his assumption. He had her father's first helmet design. Yolanda had the latest, improved head gear to go along with the full armor. Soon she would also have the full body arsenal. Masaryk was going to be one very sorry Commie.

She was brought out of her thoughts by the lingering smell of fresh paint in the air. Instinctively, the young woman turned to the wall on her left.

She didn't tell Henry that she had tried on the armor Sunday morning while he was at the Avengers Mansion. She had activated the repulsion devise on her boots and glided some four feet above the floor. At first she moved in an upright standing position with hesitancy. But after a little while, the brilliant Yolanda traveled masterfully in an oval pattern around the room. As she gained confidence, she began to increase her speed.

Unfortunately, in the last go-around, Yolanda failed to negotiate a turn and bounced off of a wall. The otherwise loud impact was muffled by the insolated walls, but there was no doubt as to where one could find her impact point. On the plus side, the armor proved to be protective— Yolanda hadn't a hint of a bruise.

The two 57-year-old sisters, Brygitka and Delfina, who were house cleaners and cooks, were off Sundays. Thank goodness— she didn't have to explain to anyone why she raced to the hardware store for spackle and paint.

Hank had a robotic "maintenance man" that he called _RES-Q_… Repair Essential Servicer- Quadrupedal (it had four wheels). It looked like the traditional Christian cross on wheels when stripped of equipment. Yolanda swept away pieces of plaster, while Rescue vacuumed and wiped tell-tale powdery debris from nearby chairs and tables. Early Sunday afternoon, Yolanda attached two "arms" to RES-Q— one had a spackle applicator and the second had a flat "hand" to evenly spread out the spackle. Yolanda had left the programmed RES-Q to repair the wall as she looked for the sandpaper-roller "hand."

Waiting for the spackle to dry, Yolanda couldn't help but jot down on paper the improvements that she could add to Hank's cleaning robot, her _**rescuer**_. After it sandpapered smooth and spray painted the whole wall (so that the new paint wouldn't stand out), RES-Q was put away.

Yolanda had showered and then returned to admire the repair job. That was the moment when she received Henry's call to go to the park and receive Ant-Man and that …. Wasp in her purse.

Now, Monday morning she again sought the help of her metal pal. RES-Q's right arm was now a large spray painter that had several chambers on its forearm for color paint. After days of paper sketching, Yolanda knew the colors that she needed – gold, blue and black. A panel from the ceiling parted and a big metal claw descended to lift the glass encasing. The robot began to color the sterile metal costume.

The helmet and the chest plate began to glow in golden splendor. The color enhanced the appearance of the Unicorn horn that extended inches ahead of the helmet's forehead (its smaller size still could launch a lethal thermal blast). A black background brought an intimidating look to the golden horse head on the upper chest. Its mouth was tucked close to its thick neck to proudly display the horn.

_Hmm,_ she wondered. Those eye slits on the head gear… it was similar to Iron Man's horizontal eye openings. Would it look more intimidating if instead of two, she had one long aperture like the X-Men's Cyclops?

While Yolanda stared at the head gear, she strangely felt as if it had a personality; it was an entirely different being from herself. The entire armor looked like it would move at any minute. It creeped her out a bit, but she couldn't stop looking at it. As a matter of fact the only thing that could take her mind off of the armor was that familiar sensation that told her that she forgot her usual stop after getting out of bed … the bathroom.

* * *

It was certainly too early for four-year-old Paige Guthrie, but momma had taken her to the potty room to avoid an accident. Lucinda debated if she should carry her daughter back to the bedroom. But when Paige was sitting on the bowl, she seemed wake enough to make it back without falling. Momma rested her hands on the girl's shoulders, just in case.

Paige's little bare feet tapped their way along the wooden hallway floor. She stopped in front of her room.

"No, no honey," Momma said from behind the girl. The woman gently turned the little shoulders away from her bedroom door. "You were sleeping in the big room, remember?"

With her eyes still closed, Paige smiled and nodded her head. As she passed the window, the early orange-yellow sun rays hitting her little cheek stirred her memory. Her small shoulders swirled away from Lucinda Guthrie's hands and she whisked pass her mother.

"Jus' a min-id, Momma."

Paige opened the door of her bedroom to look inside. Poppa was still sleeping. His snoring meant everything was okay. Paige returned to her mother's guiding hands with a smile on her face. Each step brought her eyelids closer together until she was crawling onto her space on the bed.

She looked at her brother's open mouth. "Momma," Paige managed in a drowsy tone. "Make him go too."

"Paige dear, come on. Momma has to water the fields now."

"Make him. Why ah should pee an' he do-own?"

"Quiiiiiet," the boy sleepily moaned.

"Geds up an' pee," Paige yawned in a stronger voice.

"Maaaa," Sam tailed off. The curly haired girl felt her anger rise and she pushed sleep away to arm's length. She rested her hands on the pillow, on the left and right of Sam's head. Frowning, she leaned her head down towards him.

"Paige Ann , please," Lucinda Rae fussed. She pulled her determined daughter away from her brother's pillow and back to her own.

Momma turned to get her dress from the closet. Paige slid across the bed so that her lips were again close to her brother's ear.

She whispered, "Geds up o-in Ah'll dells Marda Jean dad yah-in wubbed ha soda can on yah'll p'ivades befo' givin' id da ha.'"

Samuel's eyes exploded open. He sat up and, from between blades of rusty-brown hair, his eyes searched Paige's face. How could she do that to her own flesh and blood? Martha Jean was his honey and at the irrepressible hormonal high tide, he did what at the time came natural.

If a boy is interested and the girl says she's also interested, something happens inside of the boy. But if within ten seconds after her confession, she says "Eww," when he puckers up, it throws a guy's insides out of whack.

The only thing he could think of to save face was to say that he was imagining drinking a soda pop at that time when she thought that he wanted a kiss. One thing led to another and soon he was going to the store to buy soda for the both of them.

Just before he came to her door, he did something horrible. At nine-years- old, the build-up of confounding tension that stemmed from subliminal sexual attraction and the embarrassment of Martha's rejection was released the only manner available to the perplexed juvenile mind. No one was supposed to have seen it. NO ONE.

Momma interrupted the staring match when she asked if something was wrong.

Sam responded, "Naw, naw. Ah jus' rememberin' dat I promised mah-self ta help ya, Ma."

His feet hit the floor and he ran into the hall, saying, "Dress here, Ma. Ah'm usin' da bathroom."

Paige leaned back onto her pillow. She closed her eyes while flashing a triumphant smile.

* * *

They were just tall enough to reach Yolanda Vanko's shoulder. Twin sisters (and housekeepers) Brygitka Adamski and Delfina Gilbert entertained everyone with their verbal sparring. But there would be no lighthearted banter between them this morning.

Hank gave the sisiters extra pocket money so that each morning they could buy coffee and the newspapers. They were free to read the papers before placing them on the morning table for Henry to browse.

Today the papers lead with the bridge battle and the intervention of a suicide attempt. But around page three, the pictures and articles turned to the amorous hug between the Wasp and Captain America.

Had a revelation not been thrown into their faces nearly a year back, they would probably be devouring the gossip piece like every other person.

One morning, when Dr. Pym still had his Manhattan penthouse, the sisters had the displeasure of walking in on a formal-dressed, but inebriated Janet Van Dyne. She had stayed out all night without Henry Pym and had fluffed off his angry outburst.

He retreated to his laboratory to find solace in an experiment. She disappeared only to come back in her Wasp outfit. Seeing her condition, the sisters just looked at each other with blank expressions. But when Miss Van Dyne showed off her shrinking ability they could hardly keep their eyes in their sockets.

She was REALLY the Wasp. That meant that Dr. Pym had to be….

After buzzing around their heads, Jan regained her normal height and revealed another startling gem. She let loose with her lengthy repertoire of humiliating Polish jokes. When the alcohol finally subdued her, Jan sprawled herself onto the kitchen table.

Her last words before closing her eyes were, "Henry can eat me when he's ready."

Delfina called Dr. Pym out of his lab. He carried Jan to her room and locked her door. Henry apologized to the women. The women protested that he had done nothing wrong, but Hank drowned them out:

"I should have been man enough to be here and stop her drunken act before it began."

The two women agreed to keep the identities of the Wasp and Ant-man a secret. Delfina and Brygitka enjoyed their work and they would never leave it voluntarily. And they knew that conversational leaks could cost them one, or all, of their lives.

Nothing so vulgar had reoccurred since then, but Brygitka was the sister who held a grudge for eternity. Still, Jan had been civil to the older women, so Delfina tried not to be influenced by Brygitka's resentment.

Both sisters were mothers to daughters, and after this shared experienced they looked upon Hank as an unofficially adopted son. And for his sake things had run smoothly over the surface, …. until this day.

The obvious zeal within the pages of the newspapers was like the striking of a thorny whip to the two old women who loved Henry Pym. They sat in the kitchen with the papers folded and placed on the familiar spot on the table. They dared not to give the papers a second look, nor did they speak. How could they? They could never have spoken above the shouting of shock and grief that assailed their minds.

* * *

This was the highlight of her day, since Jan Van Dyne was a late sleeper. With just-brushed breath, Yolanda Vanko paraded through the living room as she headed for the kitchen. The sofa pillows were strangely gathered to one side, so she rearranged them.

With her white blouse, she wore her calves-high black capris pants. While other girls her age went for something "real cool," Yolanda liked the casual-classy look. Of course that meant looking through _Life Magazine_ and seeing what Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly wore while vacationing. She patted her pants to make sure that the digital alarm clock was in her pocket (with so many ideas and inventions swirling in her head, it was normal to be forgetful, at times).

She was readying herself for the teasing that her two older gal-pals would launch when they saw that the pants belt looked like a man's oversized tie. The silk white and blue belt went around her body then flopped down halfway towards her left knee. (Hey, it looked great on Grace Kelly.) She prepared herself to counter their jabs with the claim that of the three friends, she was the only one brave enough to steal "the tie" from Wilt Chamberlain.

She happily expected to see her cheerleader at the breakfast nook waiting for her, as was his custom. But Henry wasn't in his seat. Darn—she wanted to see his reaction to her outfit. She also expected a lively conversation from the two sisters. She instead got long faces.

Yolanda asked, "What's the matter?"

* * *

Reference: Sisters Brygitka Adamski and Delfina Gilbert are original characters written for this story.

The "tower-horn" of the 1st Unicorn design (mentioned in Yolanda's dream). Web Search: Tales_of_Suspense_Vol_1_56


	11. Chapter 11: Some Good Plans, Some Bad

CHAPTER 11 Some Good Plans, Some Bad

That bell. That damnable doorbell. The sun had risen long ago, but to Elihas Starr it was much too early to receive visitors. The Hell-sawn bastard appeared to have been leaning on the doorbell, setting Elihas' teeth on grind mode.. The ringing noise compounded the throbbing ache on the left side of his head. At his third attempt to rock his rotund body off of the bed, Elias was on his feet. A sudden chill made him reach for his robe. If it wasn't for his history with hangovers, he'd have asked himself, how in blazes can one feel cold in summer?

Cursing and stumbling, he finally found himself reaching for the locks. His present malady made him forget about the last time he answered the door, so he was feeling brave. It helped that in his mind, the offender had to be a neighborhood brat. Elihas determined not to yell at the bastard, seeing as it would only increase the headache. But he was definitely going to curse him out.

He swung the door open in anger and found two big ruffians wearing white tie-less shirts and dark pants. Terror re-entered Elihas' heart. The armed thugs from last night were back!

No wait—a second look brought Elihasa a recognition of the duo.

Elihas rubbed his left temple and asked, "Was it today?"

The black-haired man on the left made a face. Elihas wasn't sure why until the brown haired man to the right stepped back and waved his hand in front of his own nose.

"Man, you stink." This fellow said. **_Obvious_**, Elihas concluded was free of strong emotions long enough to pay attention to his sense of smell. It was the combination sweat, sex and… PEE?!

He opened his robe and looked down. The two men took a couple of steps back upon seeing the repulsive sight. Elihas rubbed the crotch of his wet boxer shorts and brought his hand to his face. He was relieved that it was only sweat. Of the three men, only HE was comforted.

After a releasing few cuss words directed at the football-shaped freak before him, the brown-haired man said, "It's a good t'ing fer ya dat I'm on a diet. If I had finished a big breakfas' before comin' here, I'd be decortin' yer floor with da food and yer head wit my .44."

The last reference was not lost on Elihas as he had known the blunt pain that came from a pistol's handle. It came to him the first time he met and dismissed Gaxton's hoods. The black-haired man placed the back of his hand on the offended dieter's chest, signaling him to be silent.

"Yeah," the darker-haired brute said referring to the question that seemed forgotten. "It's taday."

"Ahh, goo—ah good morning Mr. Balboni and… " The nervous Elihas looked to the brown-haired man expecting him to re-introduce himself. Nothing came of it.

The odd shaped man apologized for forgetting the name of the man on the right and as a matter of courtesy, he'd like to address him properly.

The fellow stopped him abruptly and barked, "Shaddup, stinky. Dis ain't no f - - king invitation to no f - - king prom dance, got it? We're here ta get yer f - - king monkey a – s ta da boss."

Being 14 inches taller than Elihas, when the lighter-haired ruffian leaned down to meet him (predator) eye-to- (victim) eye, he left an unforgettable impression.

He continued, "Hurry up an' le's get goin'."

Looking into the man's cold eyes, Elihas saw a reflection of the man who sent them— Blackie Gaxton. The notorious gang leader had a short temper and a shorter tolerance for tardiness.

Months ago, Blackie had "convinced" a judge that his prison break was entirely engineered by the extra appendage-carrying Doctor Otto Octavius— a.k.a. Dr. Octopus— in executing a kidnapping plot. Blackie paid his fellow hoods to back up his story in court. His present lawyer argued that he shot his former lawyer, Bennett Brant, by mistake. He was aiming at the damned Spider-man who he believed was attacking the late lawyer "and friend." For years Gaxton had financed the campaigns of ensconced Pennsylvanian Democratic politicos and they were called upon to return a favor. They put the squeeze on the judge and that was the final straw to enable Blackie's early parole.

But the man was on a mission to "pay back" Spider-man— the unlucky stiff who dared to stop Blackie's escape when the costumed clown jumped onto an old cargo ship where he was hiding. At the time, Gaxton was anticipating the arrival of another ship that was heading for Belize.

Ten days ago, in one of his courageous boast that was triggered by booze, Elihas assured Gaxton that he had a plan that would definitely help the Philadelphia mob boss get rid of the Spider-man. And Elihas knew that he had better deliver on that plan now.

Balboni raised an eyebrow and reconsidered the initial command that his partner had issued. Gaxton wasn't going to be pleased with the two if they brought a guy to him that smelled like this dumpy pile of…

"Da boss hates ta be kept waitin'. But since he'll be on da phone gettin' his Chicago and Balt'more connections ta see da light and since youse in no f - - king condition ta see him like ya are, I'll give ya twenty minutes to wash and get yer clothes on.

"We'll drive aroun' an' when we get back, be ready. We hates ta be kept waitin', too."

Elihas nervously nodded as the men turned around to leave.

With one hand pulling the front of his robe together and the other messaging his subsiding hangover headache, the awkward genius ran towards the bathroom. On the way, he hit the side of his beaten-up sofa with his left knee. The pain made him scream as the knee ricocheted away. Unfortunately, the hard impact turned his body around while he was still proceeding forward. That caused Elihas to bang the back of his sizable head against the doorframe leading to the in-apartment hallway. The new headache made him release the grip on his robe and he bent over unthinkingly. This allowed the front of his robe to touch the ground. He lurched forward with his right hand messaging his left knee and his left hand crossing over to hold the area behind his right ear. His feet stepped on the robe. The snag on the material spun him around. Trying to regain his balance, he spun in a circle two more times, and entangled his feet. Not long after, he was kissing the floor.

In between his yelps he looked up towards the bathroom door on the left side of the hallway. Suffering from the three body bruises (head, knee and mouth), Elihas inched his way towards the goal on his hands and the one good knee. But when he passed the bedroom door on his right, he let out a frightened, high pitched squeal that even a pre-kindergartener would have been ashamed of releasing.

His eyes returned to their sockets and his hands stopped trembling when he remembered. That right foot extended beyond the bed wasn't dismembered. It was attached to that damned whore he took in last night.

There was no time for her, he had to get ready. Avoiding his aching areas, Elihas hurriedly lathered up his football-shaped figure and rinsed off. He rushed to his bedroom aiming for the closet. The aches dwindled to mild throbbings, so another punishment took center stage. Elihas's wrinkled nose, sniffed at the pungent air. He then looked at the darkened sheets around the sleeping woman.

"The bitch urinated on my bed!" he yelled.

* * *

It was no use. Jameson wasn't due in for a few hours, but when The Daily Bugle's overnight editor, Joe Robertson, phoned him about Peter Parker's request, the big boss had an expected reaction. "Robbie" called Peter back to say that Jameson refused to see him. Again, the young man pleaded and promised that he had photos of Spider-man during the rescue attempt of a building jumper and the battle against Stilt-man.

"So did other photographers in the city," was the message from Jameson that was relayed to the teen. When Peter failed to take photos of Kraven, the hunter when he arrived in New York two days ago, Jameson fired him. The last message that the Publisher/Chief Editor sent to the youth was, if Peter set one foot in the Bulge Building, Jameson would have him arrested for trespassing.

Peter thanked the night editor and hung up the phone. He looked at the clock over the fireplace. It was 7:50 AM. In an hour his gal, Betty Brant, would begin her secretarial duties for that tight butt, Jameson. He could ask her to soften her boss while Peter was in his first period chemistry class.

Should he do it? Last night he had proclaimed his love and loyalty to Betty. Wouldn't it look like he was just using her so that she could fight to get Peter his job back? No, Peter wouldn't torture his beloved by planting those suspicions in her heart. Then again, the money situation in his household was desperate. Damn it, what was his plan to get out of this mess?

The scholarship? In the future, would he be in a bigger financial bind if he cashed-out on Dr. Pym's Scholarship? Would another scholarship program cover as many expenses as Dr. Pym's did? Peter very rarely cussed but he did this time. Why does life have to be so complicated? Fewer and fewer things were clear-cut smart or dumb, right or wrong, great or bad.

"Peter, dear," Aunt May called from the kitchen. "Breakfast is ready. I made your favorite, sweet apricot pancake. Oh, and I forgot to tell you. Yesterday I picked up a darling blouse that I thought you could give to that charming girl, Betty. I know that with your studies, you don't have time to shop for your sweetheart.

All right. There was one thing— one person— within hugging range who was clearly smart, right, and great

* * *

To the west of Massachusetts, was the New York State county of Colombia. Just miles into the county, a forest had grown around and swallowed up all memories of a British Officers' residence. Two years and a month after General Cornwallis sent his substitute, General O'Hara, to surrender to the ceremonial-worthy French and the American Colonies' rag-tag Continental Army, the last British regiment left New York on November of 1783.

179 years later, on November 30, 1962, the time-forgotten spacious remains were discovered by a "wealthy hermit. " The land purchase and renovation followed quickly after. It suited the rich loner well in that it was miles away from the prestigious Westchester Mansion of a friend-turned-foe. And he could move in some individuals who were also isolated from society, though not by their desires, as was the case with the reclusive landowner.

Almost two years from the discovery, on this July 22 morning, the secretive master of the house, Eric Lehnsherr, sat in a dim, large room. He didn't need to move his curtains and allow the morning rays into the room. There were only a few things in that spacious room, therefore he didn't need much light to find things. Besides, if he wanted something, it came to him, he didn't go to it.

Sufficient was the light that came from the television in front of him. His section of the woods was not telecast-wave accessible, but since he built a large signal receiving dish on the roof, he could steal international programming using the Stark Industries orbiting satellites. Today, the US news stations were most informative.

His right hand rested atop the helmet— this symbol of his authoritativeness sat on his lap as Lehnsherr, in turn, sat on his elegant arm chair. With a point of a finger the television was shut off. The last images were still playing in his mind.

Rushing through the LaGuardia Airport, ahead of camera men and reporters, where two young brave Ukrainians who were credited with stopping an airplane hijacking.

Now this isolated man had a master plan brewing. The success of Eric's mission depended on his followers going about undetected. Pietro and Wanda had stepped into the limelight through no intention of their own. He would say nothing in the way of a reprimand. Stirring unnecessary strife with the hot-headed Pietro seemed pointless. But he would have to train them to take extra precautions, should such conditions arise again.

As is, he thought that the media's over-sensationalizing of the Homo Sapien's inferior heroes—Captain America, Spider-man and the Wasp would relegate the brother and sister to the forgotten oddities files in the back room of the outsiders' consciousness. Soon they would be thought about with less frequency than Big Foot and the Loch Ness Monster.

As for Eric, he had better things to do. He had a search to continue. His right hand slid down from the top of the symbol that would soon represent terror to the outsiders. His fingers finally reached his lap. Mysteriously the metal head piece rose from his legs. It gingerly settled around his head, exposing only his eyes, nose and mouth.

Eric stood up and walked out of the room. Yes, Magneto had a hunt to attend to.

* * *

There were similarities between the female friend that stayed overnight at Elihas' place and Danny Cohen. Both had promising futures that could have been accessed by hard work. Both of them took an easier road that directed them away from their better expectations.

Danny blinked rapidly. The last blink finally brought him out of his sleep. He stayed on the hard ground motionlessly trying to figure out where he was. Oh, yeah—it was the same old alley that he always parked his butt in. This time he was confused because he usually faced the street, not the back fence that lead to another restaurant's back yard. With his insecurity vanquished he was now ready to turn the wheels in his head.

He could now, you know. He knew that he was in the 'tween because could feel the cool wind blowing on him. That was the period between the glorious hit and the hellish torture that crashed in on him. That was the period when he had to figure out a way to get some scratch for the next hit. When his body went ape-sh –t for the _smack_ it was an ugly scene, man.

It wasn't always like this. He used to be one of the top eyeballs for the Gov, you dig? Man, he dropped dimes like a broken payphone on gangsters, spies and saboteurs . His tips helped put them away. The Suits paid him real boss, too. They greased his palm as good as if he made it to the nowhere career as a doc, like his family had planned for him.

There was plenty of time and dough to make the scene with his main babe, heroin. The Feds were happy and Danny was in the breeze zone. He vaguely remembered Mr. Mini-Man himself thanking him. But maybe that was just a dream. After he took the good sh – t, he always had those spaced-out dreams.

Like man , Mr. Mini was into all that ant sh –t and he probably was a square, going home to his ant-wife and reading his ant-paper, warning his ant-kids to stay away for glue-traps. Like, why would he give the skin to a cool cat like Danny, man?

Anyway things changed. Four bad canary songs later and the Suits forgot all he had done for them. The Feds got no collars and they frosted him, man. They were like, _who the f - -k is Danny Cohen?_ Now the cat's palm went dry, but he still had his babe, heroin, to support, you dig? So he goes all shadow-and-shakedown like.

Dig it, even with the toasted gray matter in his head, Danny knew that one day he'd mug the wrong cat. May be it would be a Narco or a Pu - - y Daddy. Undercover badge or pimp, both crazy mother - - kers carried heat and Danny knew that he wasn't agile enough to dodge flying lead, man. That was some scary sh –t to ponder. So that's why last night he had to take the dip again and see if he could slide into a happening that the Feds would eat up, dig?

There was a pigeon cage break coming in the middle of the pigeon's trial before the robe. The thin, pale Danny Cohen got himself nested into the peepers spot—you know, what the squares on TV cop shows called a "look out." Now the pigeon was _biiig_, man—heavy important, like. Because of that, Danny got a good bill for signing on and he used it on his "date". But now he had to get himself re-familiarized with the bigger Feds scratch before his body sweated for his babe again. After all, he had a long term relationship to think of.

He shuffled to the entrance of the alley and thought for a minute. Oh Yeah, the frap house was to his left. He'd get to his pad, find the Suits' number and the untraceable Mini-Man number. He'd come down to the corner phone booth and, like, asked if the suits or the Ant was interested enough to waive some green in his direction, you dig?

Ahhh, now this was a plan, man.

* * *

She sat down. Yolanda had to. The newspapers printed things that were too much to take. She turned on the stool to bring her feet under the counter that separated the kitchen from the breakfast nook. Suddenly, as if she just discovered that she was holding on to dog feces, Yolanda threw the paper on the counter.

The pictures were horrible: The Wasp bringing Captain America close to her. Her lips were parted in a manner looked like she was about to attempted that dangerous "French Kiss" that Yolanda had heard drains a person of self-control.

The articles were cruel: One tabloid christened Captain America and that dreadful creature the "it" couple in everyone's conversation from here on. Another paper declared them to be the "hip" couple of the year. But all the papers indicated that if the Wasp hadn't already thrown Giant-Man away over her shoulder, then he may still be giant, but he was no more a man than a pitiful, cowering cuckold.

Yolanda's fist tightened in rage as they rested to the right and left of the newspapers. She was angry at the abusive media coverage, but she was beside herself with rage towards one very despicable Janet Olivia Van Dyne.

How could she do this? How could she callously humiliate him in public? Henry was kind, encouraging, charming, intelligent and handsome. Any woman would give her right arm for a man who was a quarter of the man that he was. Henry Pym deserved a better wo-

She had to stop her thoughts. There was a weird sensation that sneaked into her heart. Was it… relief… and elation? How disgusting of her—Yolanda scolded herself and began suppressing those feelings.

What was wrong with her? When poor Henry finds out about this, he'll be totally crushed. He'll probably throw her ou-.

What's happening here? Yes, she felt shock, but why wasn't it followed by feelings of distressed for that wonderful, gentlemanly, muscular, attractive hunk who could give Yolanda a run for her money in the intellect department.

WHAT? …. What were these strange words entering her head that clouded the seriousness of this scandal? Her heart was beating strongly, but it didn't seem to be the drum rolls of despair on Henry's behalf.

Oh come on. How whack was this? Henry will soon need someone to go to; someone who could comfort -

**_OH LORD, BE MERCIFUL_**! It came again. That wave of thrilled sensation and hope. Yolanda put her hands to her face feeling confused and frightened. It took a while, but the brilliant young woman's fingers felt the rolling of her cheeks. Was she smiling?

This was almost as disturbing as the newspapers. It felt like her body was being possessed by another woman… a frivolous, uncaring woman. No wait, _uncaring_ wasn't the word. In fact, it held the furthest definition to the sensation. The word _frivolous_ was also buried under the weight of determined calculations. Those planned calculations were swirling in head. They raced at tornado speed and she couldn't get a handle on them.

Suddenly, she came back to the world and she quickly dropped both her hands and her smile. In shame she looked up to see if the two sisters had seen her disgraceful display. She sighed in relief at seeing the back of Delfina, as she hunched over to take out glassware from the dishwasher. And though she initially was equally thankful that Brygitka was also turned away, shame returned to her. Brygitka was looking out through the glass patio doors and wiping her left cheek as if she was removing tears. That was how Yolanda should be feeling, as well. If she could muster the emotion right then, she would have hated herself.

Yolanda told herself to get control of her emotions. Maybe these were hormonal- induced feelings. Yes, that must be it. It was a relapse of her early teen problems. These strong and strange things sensations will go away.

She shot up from the stool and excused herself. This morning, Yolanda had wanted Henry to see her in her mature, casual-classy attire. But when he wakes up, he will find himself burdened under a great weight of humiliation. This wasn't the time for fancy clothes. Yes, they made her feel very attractive, but the somber moment was shaming her into returning those clothes to the closet. She would put on the plain outfit that she used to go to the Happy Valley Day Care Center.

Yolanda made it to the front of the elevator doors. Their gold brightness had a reflection quality to them. Yolanda thought, she _did_ look good. Wait a minute. Henry will need help coping today. Yolanda would drop her self-centeredness and occupy the mind of that wonderful man with a planned Spanish lesson.

Poor dear; if only a good woman could catch his eyes. The door was sending back to her eyes a pretty good looking female. The new someone in Henry's life should know how to dress as attractive as she did, Yolanda thought.

No, she had to concentrate. She had to plan something. They should have a Spanish conversation about something that would take his mind away from the hurt. Hmm, a Spanish lesson about …. about …

Yolanda's mind unexpectedly screamed. "QUE EN EL INFIERNO ESTOY PENSANDO? ("What in hell am I thinking?")

She can finalize a lesson on the fly. Right now, she was going to march into her room; look through her magazine; find an alluring hairstyle; come back down; drag Delfina up to her room to help fix her hair; find the perfume that the sisters had bought her, but she never used; and oh yes— THE OUTFIT WAS GOING TO STAY ON HER.

She wasn't all conscious of the fact that the elevator arrived and the reflective doors disappeared. She just smiled and said, "Now that's the best plan I have ever conceived."

* * *

Reference:

Blackie Gaxton vs Spider-man is found in Spider-man #11 (1964)


	12. Chapter 12: Some Foggy Decisions

Chapter 12: Some Foggy Decisions That Should've Been Dis-Mist.

The bitch urinated on my bed," Elihas Starr bellowed with a red face.

This was not the lingering fragrance of a passionate night that he had expected. He shook her awake, slung her legs off the bed, grabbed her clothes up from the floor, and threw them on her lap. She didn't respond beyond falling backwards onto the bed. A big yank brought the incoherent woman to her feet.

"You're leaving," he said. "Get your things on and expedite yourself." He pushed her into the bathroom to dress. Seconds after putting on his white shirt and navy blue pants, he noticed that there was no noise in the bathroom. He looked in to find her sitting on the toilet seat with her head hung down.

He dressed her as fast as he could. She didn't stop him, but her periodic groans about quick jerking movements causing headaches got on his nerves.

"Bitch. I don't care about your hangover, your headache. I don't care about anything but getting you out of here."

Her silk blouse wasn't completely buttoned and part of her bra was exposed. Her hair remained a mess; her panties were hanging out from her small purse. Elihas was holding her at arm's length as he pushed her towards the front door. He didn't want her urine smell to contaminate his clothing. He opened the door as the two men from Gaxton were about to knock.

They whistled at the ill-dressed woman, thinking that a revealed brassier was provocative. She gave them a crooked smile. As Elihas nudged her through the door, the thugs' thoughts of proposition melted away by the scent that clung to her. They made sure that she had plenty of room to move pass them.

She tripped on one of the four steps leading up to the sidewalk. The impact against the hard cement steps fully woke her up, and the peripheral non-response angered her. None of the men who witnessed her fall tried to help her up. Ignoring the painful parts of her body that were seconds away from showing bruises, she turned to give them a scowl. She began to get up as she snarled a parting comment to Elihas.

"If I get home and I find out you took back the money, I'm coming back to kick your—"

"Silence, whore," the odd shaped man snapped back. "Get out of here."

She straightened up and folded her arms in defiance.

"Here, chickie," the black haired man said as he slipped her a few bills. "Dat's incase Romeo did, now be on yer way."

She expressed a more-in-this-world smile. "I don't have to go home right away. I just need some aspirin and I'm ready to go. Now if you boooys-"

Balboni replied, "Thanks." He pointed his thumb towards Elihas. "But we're leavin' town wit' dis mutt dis minute. Go home an' take a nice, relaxin' bath."

She shrugged and said, "Your loss."

When she turned to leave, the woman made sure that she had a good grip on the short railing. If she fell again, she wasn't expecting these gorillas to help her up.

The men quickly turned to Elihas. The noticed the swelling on the side of Elihas' lip that resulted from his fall the apartment. They mistakenly figured that the less-than-dainty woman had punched him, and they smiled. Ignoring the urge to razz the odd shaped twerp, the brown haired brute spoke.

"No more delays. Get your Sh-t and let's go."

There was no argument. The man whom people called Egghead was no fool. He reached for his attach case and luggage, which he had packed yesterday. He locked the door behind him. Maybe boasting that he could help Gaxton would prove to be a better decision than it presently looked. Yes, Elihas will come through and he'll earn everyone's respect and admiration.

"Good thing you smell better," the brown-haired man said. "Otherwise, you's be riddin' in da trunk."

Yes sir, respect and admiration.

* * *

Billionaire Tony Stark was asleep on his bed. Neither daylight, nor alarm clock (if he had bothered to set one) could have stirred him from sleep before his customary noon wake-up. But there was a persistent itch on his rear that the sleepy industrialist had to get to. He rolled onto his side and reached behind him. His fingers moved, but his sit-upon felt nothing. Worst of all, the itch was still there. Angered that he had to fully open his eyes, Stark discovered that he was still in Iron Man's armor from the shoulders down.

It usually took five minutes after opening his eyes before Tony could collect himself and remember the night before. But today, he immediately had flashes of policemen's faces and then a trip to Manhattan to look into FBI supervisory faces.

Now why was that? Oh, yeah. That cowardly skunk who turned a weapon on Happy. Ehhh, Herman, ehh, Shultz—yeah. But hey, first things, first.

There was a "whizz" sound here and a "uuu" sound there, followed by a sigh of relief. Stark had finally dropped his lower body protection to scratch his itch.

Stark sat back on the bed with his "trunks" and leg armor around his ankles. He remembered that last night he had his head gear set to police scanners in order to hear if the stolen weapon was used elsewhere in the city. At the top of the hour, Iron Man switched to the 6 minute news spot that interrupted almost all AM radio stations' signature programming— perhaps the scum committed a crime outside of the region and the media would pick it up, Tony hoped.

It was frustrating not to be able to pick up the trail of the piece of sh – t and get his hands around the coward's neck.

In the process of listening in to the AM station, Iron Man heard that Giant-man suffered a great loss. The Wasp and Captain America were now a couple. Tony had not thought much about it at the time. Sure, he had passing sympathy for the size-changing partner, but Iron Man was hunting down a dangerous menace.

Now, in a more sedated frame of mind—as sedated as a hangover would allow— Tony didn't even feel that much compassion.

Stark was a man who had determined to keep his love for his secretary, Virginia Potts, under wraps. She appeared very willing to enter into a relationship with him. But inviting "Pepper" into his dangerous life also meant inviting her to become a constant target for his enemies. It wasn't going to happen.

So why shouldn't he forget his heartache by having other women … in particular one female Avenger?

Wow, those slim, but sculpted calves and thighs on the Wasp. And that a – s; you could bounce a quarter off that firm baby.

Tony felt that he could move in on that since he really wasn't undermining an ally. Giant-man was already history for her, right? The big guy looked like he was way behind the dancer-built Wasp— like on her rear view mirror (and fading).

Think about it. Tony and the Wasp were perfect for each other… until he got tired. Look, they laughed at the same jokes— the jokes that the overly-prude Giant-stiff frowned at. As Tony Stark, he had squeezed her hands a couple of times in conversations and she reciprocated. That wasn't the response of someone who was happy in a relationship. She apparently had the same zeal for life's thrills as Tony had— that, in itself, was enough to wonder what she had seen in her then-boyfriend. Her eagerness for the "new" also meant that if Tony walked away, she'd probably had his replacement in view before their split. Damn, not having a clingy female around when you needed to move on sounded like heaven. Annnd, she could make him forget Pepper— sure, she could.

Now the fact that the Wasp jumped into Steve's arms without any prior indication meant that she was as quick to get it on as Tony was. Winning her over from the nice, but penny-less and extremely un-hipped relic was going to be easy.

Yep, the Wasp was out there, ripe for the picking and a perfect counterpart… again, until he got tired of her. And if it meant that there would be a rift between himself and Cap, who ca-?

Hey, wait a minute. The team was working great together, defeating mutual enemies. Maybe that type of distraction wasn't such a good idea. Besides, it wasn't like he didn't already have a long list of bed-warmers. In fact, one was currently in his room.

Tony turned to see the sensually curved beauty in his bedroom. She had a rich deep tan color, long elegant neck. She gave his mouth and insides all the pleasure he currently desired.

She also possessed the two biggest qualities he needed: To be quite when he needed silence and the ability to take his mind off of Pepper. NOW THAT WAS A PERFECT BEDROOM COMPANION.

And he took advantage of the fact that she was right there, right now, within reach. Tony brought the flavorful, shapely thing to him. He tilted his head back and openly displayed the familiar wild thirst for her that showed her that she was invaluable to him.

Finally, in a near orgasmic gasp, he managed, "AHHH! Nothing beats bourbon in the morning."

* * *

Moving the morning along a half hour later, Nurse Jane Foster turned the key to open the medical office. She found Doctor Donald Blake with his head on top of his forearms. His forearms, in turn, were on top of his desk.

Unknown to any mortal, Thor had attended a five-hour dinner and peace conference between Trolls and the dwellers of the Golden Realm. If he felt out-of-place, it was only because the Norse Legend was a fighter, not a statesman. Still, the prince of Asgard was present to lend the air of authoritative representation.

After it finished, the Son of Odin went to the office of Dr. Blake to work on a stack of quarterly tax forms and to review medical records. Unfortunately, whereas the immortal could withstand 6 consecutive days without sleep, when he reverted to the mortal, Dr. Blake, the 1 AM to 6 AM session eventually took its toll.

A firm, feminine hand stirred the doctor awake.

"Jane? …. No, no I'm all right. I guess this old doctor can't tolerate those all-nighters as I did years back when I was cramming for college finals."

She refuted his assertion about his age. Then she gave him a stern lecture that ended with an opinion that he needed someone to take care of him if he couldn't see his own limitations. Jan took a clean sheet out of the medical closet, and placed it over one of the couches in the waiting room. She then walked Dr. Blake to the area.

Referring to his Monday schedule, Jane said, "You rest here, Darling. The office won't open for another hour and a half. I'll have coffee and a breakfast sandwich waiting for you when you wake up."

He rested his head on the freshly cleaned nurse's uniforms that Jane had folded into a pillow.

"Where would I be without you?" he asked.

"It had better not be in a woman's apartment, that's for sure."

They could finally talk this way now. The sidesteps and dodges away from the inevitable between two loving, but hesitant, hearts had been brushed away. She knew that he cared for her; he knew that she wanted to give romance with her boss a chance.

Even in assuming his other being, Thor loved Jane Foster. His father expressly forbade his intimacy with the mortal woman, but the Odinson's feelings could not be changed by a mountain of royal degrees.

Purely out of habit, Jane put on the radio. The speakers, hidden in various parts of the waiting room's ceiling, awoke with WCBS-FM. The station featured easy-going music that was used to calm the most excitable hypochondriacs (and Dr. Blake had his share of them). But even the soothing music, its hush tones and a comfortable sofa could not completely weigh down Donald Blake's eyes when Jane was in the room. She was beautiful, intelligent, diligent and more than worthy of his admiring love.

With half closed eyes, he watched her prepare the office for the morning appointments. It was only last Saturday that the mad Asgardian, and Thor's adopted brother, Loki, kidnapped Jane in an attempt to push the mortal to don his identity of the Master of Thunder. Loki's plan was to fight him in a field of the evil brother's choosing. With Thor's mind distracted with the safety of his beloved and the Adirondack battlefield familiar only to his enemy, Loki was sure that he could totally pummel Thor and execute his revenge on the golden haired prince.

Loki saw success in the first part of his scheme— in forcing Thor into being— but he failed to the vanquish his enemy. Jane was saved and King Odin granted her the gift of forgetfulness. Still, the strenuous ordeal should have required a lengthy period of bodily recuperation. But here she was two days later, tending to her job and taking care of the weary Dr. Blake. She was amazing.

The chimes over the radio signaled that the music would be interrupted for the news and weather. The first item that came across the airwaves spoke about a freak accident. In New Hampshire's Otter Brook State Park, a strong wind turned the simple kindling of a morning campfire into a forest inferno. Even as the news was being reported, the wild fire was rapidly heading towards a village near the State Park. Small county fire departments were divided to attend to two jobs. One half tried to hold back the fire. They were backtracking from the flames that would not surrender their advance. The other half were watering down the houses and, with the police, evacuating the infirmed and elderly. Even if that evacuation was fully successful, there would be thousands of families left without shelter if the fire could not be held back. And currently, the flames were using the winds to make long jumps forward and render fire-fighting efforts meaningless.

Dr. Blake's exhausted body rocketed off the sofa.

"Dear, I think I'm ready for breakfast. I'll go down to the corner deli and get something for us."

"Nonsense, sweetheart," Jane replied while pushing him back towards the couch. "You go back to rest and I'll call them to make a delivery. What is it that you want?"

The blonde, thin man made his request with a divided mind.

"Oh, never mind," she said. "I'll just order a scramble egg platter like you usually have."

"Thanks… Eh, if you'll excuse me, I'll go to the bathroom." He scooped up his wooden walking stick and sped by her.

"Certainly, dear. But you were so dead-set on rapidly going downstairs. When did you discover your little emergency?"

Once inside the bathroom, Donald Blake scolded himself… Great, really great! The bathroom— was that the best he could have done? At least if he tarried on the Deli errand, he could blame a long line or the tardy elevators on his way back.

The bathroom?! A bout with constipation could take just so long. She would be knocking on the door and what will happen if he wasn't there to respond? When he finally returned, somehow "fell into the toilet and accidently flushed down " didn't seem like a plausible excuse.

The man who was generally patient with others, refused to use a tired mind as an excuse for this bad maneuver. Still, time was wasting and self-butt-kicking had to wait. He opened the bathroom window. Broad shouldered Thor wasn't going to make it through there, but skinny Dr. Blake could. Assured that no one saw him, the mortal stuck his upper body out of the window and stomped the lower end of his cane against the building. A flash of light appeared and the visage of the mighty Thor followed. He leaned further out and allowed himself to fall out from the window. One mighty leg shoved him away from the structure and he was free to whirl his uru hammer.

As the mallet's head circled over his head, he lifted skyward as if he was in a helicopter. Possessing power over lightning meant that he also had its essence of light at his disposal. Hence, he willed the head of his hammer to assume the capability of increasing his travel to the speed of light.

The revolving head of the awesome MJORNIR released a blinding light that appeared to be a giant halo over the immortal's head. Thor tilted his wrist so that the hammer hurled forward in a northeastern direction. At the estimated speed of 186,000 miles per second, the trip took less than a blink of an eye to complete. As soon as he saw the black column of smoke rising up in the sky, Thor disengaged the hammer's light speed and resumed his normal rate of travel. Without a shiny envelopment around him, Thor saw New York's sunny skies had been replaced by New Hampshire's clouds.

He descended in front of the fire battalion at the outskirts of town. His presence left the Chief and the firemen with their mouths hung open.

Thor's deep baritone voice asked, "Art there any of thine men inside of the Park? Art there any civilians still therein?"

After the astounded chief shook his head no, the muscular Weather Master said, "Good. I need not fear for animals, as they have, no doubt, acknowledged the danger and have retreated.

He added, "Thou shalt witness a vortex— a storm as none thou hasth witnessed afore. It will draw the fire up into the sky where it shall be extinguished. Thou may experience a vacuuming wind effect towards the forest. Fear not, nothing other than a glove or light weighted items will be pulled in. I would caution, take heed to thine breathing. Use your radio to alert all Midgardians around yon forest. If they feel that the air is being sucked out of their lungs, utilize thy hands and breath through covered mouths; but breath regularly, or thou wilt suffer lung pains.

"Then prepare thyselves for a downpour for a period of 40 seconds. I trust thee and thy comrades to keep humans out of the fire area, sir."

The chief nodded and Thor took to the air. The New York radio station had reported that the winds were strong, so that meant a fighting between warm and cool air above the forest. What else could he ask for? Thor swung his enchanted hammer in a circle and the winds and clouds came together. The assembling filled the air with a steady rumble akin to a distant freight train.

The clouds darkened as they began to swirl above the forest. Suddenly the distant train sound became an ear-battering roar as if the train was on top of the people.

The winds began to push the backs of the humans towards the forest, as Thor had warned; and the sight before them robbed them of their breath. In a spectacle not seen outside of Cecil B. DeMille's _**The Ten Commandments**_, the dark clouds funneled down more than half the distance to the earth. Those Midgardians who dared to peek up into the two- mile wide opening of the tower-like mass, would later swear they saw white, blue and red lighting appear and then get swallowed up by the stunning blackness. Tree branches lifted skyward like hands prying for a miracle.

Then the large flames from the trees rose up as a fiery, radiant, swirling tornado. As with the first, the last licks of flames rose up and their brightness were eaten up by the sky's black, wide tower.

Finally, the roar and the grandeur of awesome blackness returned skyward to form a raincloud in the sky. Stunned silence robbed the world of noise. Then the fire chief heard someone behind him yell, "Get ready here she comes."

They saw it coming down. But they weren't prepared for the larger-than-usual drops that stung their faces. No one complained, though. This was Thor's way of wetting down the trees and shrubs to kill any lingering small sparks.

The rain stopped as the Thunder Master had said. He descended down to see if his services were further needed.

Uncaringly splashing through rain puddles, the civilian crowd ran forward to cheer the red capped Avenger. The fire captain shook his head and just marveled.

"I knew you were strong enough to fight back the Hulk—"

"Along with champion Trolls and Storm Giants," Thor allowed his mischievous nature to sneak in a boast.

"But I never would have believed that you could do _THAT!" _the man concluded.

"Pahh," Thor replied with a downward brush of his hand in front of himself. Thor turned away in mock indignation over being underrated. When he turned back to the Captain, Thor saw fear in his eyes. Well, so much for prolonging his jest. The Norse Legend smiled and winked, to the man's relief.

"Ye of little faith," Thor remarked in humor. He took off without another word. The dark clouds were dispersing to reveal the sun again. But all human eyes were on the ascending immortal. Suddenly, they saw a light replace the tiny figure of Thor. It was a light that outshone the golden circle, and some shielded their eyes. Then in an instant, it was gone.

Dr. Blake came out of the bathroom no longer rubbing his elbow— actually, why would he have to? It wasn't like he banged it against the window frame while entering the bathroom. Why would he be so silly as to have half his body hanging out of a 20-story window, anyway?

At any rate, the thin physician felt more exhausted that before.

"I… I.. I have to rest," he said as he made his way back to couch.

Jane sang out in mild annoyance. "I didn't hear you flush. Now don't tell me that I have to follow you, like you were a un-potty-trained little…"

When she opened the door to the bathroom there was neither odor nor evidence of use in the bowl.

"Donald?" she inquired.

"Look, I can have a false alarm like everyone else, can't I?"

His words were fast and he dove onto the sofa to close his eyes.

"Okay, okay," she responded.

He heard her surrendering giggles at his apparent embarrassment. That was fine. If Jane had eased up on her inquiry, he didn't have to get into a detailed lie.

Jane thought that perhaps he was a little annoyed with her question about such a private bodily function. She tried to come up with something to ease his mind and relax her beloved enough so that he could sleep. But all that she could think about was the same subject that caused a buzz in the whole city. And that was…

"Can you imagine the Wasp and Captain America? I don't understand it. How long have we heard that she and Giant-Man were a couple? And now this. A member in the same team that you and your former boyfriend belong to? This wasn't well thought out. Or maybe she doesn't care how her fling will affect the unity of the team.

"There's a bigger picture here, isn't there? The Avengers are our protectors against things too big for the military to handle. This distraction can't be good for them, nor the world. I'm angry at Captain America for being dumb enough to be sucked into this, but the Wasp …. She looked like the chaser, not the pursued.

"I mean that has to rank up high in the list of selfish recklessness. Honestly, some people never outgrow their childish self-interest."

Jane stopped when she looked at the doctor on the couch. He hadn't heard a word. She wasn't disappointed, though. Jane brought out another sheet and spread it over her sleeping beloved.

A soft kiss on his cheek, and a "pleasant dreams" later, Jane resumed her preparation for the first appointments.

* * *

Winding down the roads of an affluent-above-affluence area of Fairfield Connecticut, Industrialist Norman Osborn had a change of heart. He sat in the back of his limousine and coldly "phoned" his chauffer to turn back home. Osborn he wasn't in the mood to go to his plant.

True, Gregor Shapanka's refusal to join his "security staff" had ruffled Osborn's feathers, but the Goblin had left Shapanka calling card last night. That had calmed Osborn's anger for that individual, for spell. Currently, the source of his fuming was the reason that the tycoon had sought an assemblage of talented assassins in the first place— Spider-man.

Osborn had never before felt this anger, this disgust over a human. But that was because no one before had ever turned away his attack so convincingly. Months ago, Spider-man defeated the Green Goblin's allies, The Enforcers. He also escaped the hands of the Goblin himself. Accidently waging a battle in the same cave that the brute, The Hulk, was using for a hideout was, at first appearance, a mistake. But when it became apparent that the Hulk's anger over being discovered was aimed at Spider-man, things looked promising. Then just like that, the Hulk disappeared deeper into the cage and Spider-man was safe and victorious.

Damn that costumed clown. The outrageously attired, web-swinging simpleton actually got the better of the far superior Norman Osborn. It was a humiliation that could not be tolerated. The very thought of the indignation made Osborn spontaneously kick the limo door with a loud thud.

The chauffer pressed the button to lower the glass partition between his employer and himself.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Osborn.?"

_Calm, calm,_ the multi-millionaire whispered to himself before answering.

"No, nothing. I had thought that …. I had seen a spider and I tried to squash it. I was wrong— it was nothing. Please call Mrs. Wendell."

The driver called the Oscorp Executive Secretary over the secured CB radio wave to announce Osborn's change of plans. The Industrialist could hardly contain his anger beyond his face distortions. He recovered long enough to de-fog his mind— to wrap his wild anger in the straitjacket of reason. He would try to relax himself with his latest hobby. He again addressed his chauffer.

"Take the back road to the mansion and stop at the rifle range. I want to get some shooting done."

Reference: Loki kidnapped Jane in Journey into Mystery # 108 (1964)

The defeat of the Goblin and the Enforcers occurred in Spider-Man # 14 (1964)


	13. Chapter 13: Paige & Sam

Chapter 13 : Paige and Sam-The Familiar and The New

Now that it was bathed in sunlight, the paint-peeling, wooden floor-creaking living room looked much more appealing to the pair of little eyes that belonged to the smallest Guthrie. Poppa didn't wake up early enough to shower and his sweaty odor came on strong. Paige didn't care. Paige loved him and she hugged her daddy before he left for work. The farm wasn't ready to bring forth the harvest, so her daddy had to take a morning job at the feed store until 1PM and then work in the hardware store from 3 to 7PM.

"Holly wan's a hug, doo" Paige said as she extended her dolly up to Poppa's smile.

"Well, a hugs wha' she gonna get." The man replied.

Her daddy then kissed her momma on the cheek as she handed him lunch in a brown paper bag. Poppa then headed to the front porch. Funny, even with the receding bump on his head, he nor momma had shown the slightest hint that they remembered yesterday. If a short memory concerning offenses is a part of adulthood, Paige thought, _Okay_. _Id waz no diffe'end dan bein' tee yea old_.

When she and her friend, Frannie Billings, quarreled in the morning, they'd walk off in different directions madder than the ninth puppy born to a momma dog whose under-side could feed only eight at a time. But by noon they were playing like gal pals again.

Paige walked with her daddy as she held his hand. He opened the truck door and froze. The curly-haired, redheaded cutie followed his line of vision to her brother Sam. He was leaning against the shed some yards yonder. The morning sun caused him to squint his eyes, but there was no outdoors reason for his sour expression. He reminded Paige of that old saying, _A fox who done found out he_ _actually ran off with a road show's rubber chicken_.

Sam and his father eyed each other for a few seconds. Sam then turned and walked away. Periodically, he'd picked up pebbles that were in front of him and threw them half-heartedly a head of him.

Now, Paige guessed at what was her brother's problem. Sam wasn't little, nor was he an adult. He was in that in-between age where his memory was too good. She desperately wished that he'd get older in the next few minutes. Paige didn't like seeing her big brother this way. Besides, the family setting was peaceful now and she knew Sam. He had a hard time holding the lid down on his basket of rattle snakes. He could easily stir up already forgotten problems.

Poppa yelled his good-bye, but Sam continued walking away as if he hadn't heard Poppa. According to Paige's reckoning, Poppa had a mighty pair of lungs. So maybe the small pebbles were a worthier focus of Sam's attention.

Poppa's pickup roared away. At that sound, Sam stopped and gave a side-ways look at the vehicle that kicked up dirt behind it.

When Paige was sure that Poppa couldn't see her waving anymore, she skipped towards her brother. Sam saw her from the corner of his eyes and walked away.

_Wha' a sd'ange behay-va,_ Paige thought. He had never avoided her before. Did he not see her coming over? She ran and caught up to him.

"Wassa-madda?" Paige Ann asked.

"Nut'in," Sam Jonas replied angrily. Then he picked up his walking pace.

"Why ya'll wunnin' away f'om me?"

He stopped and with a frown he turned to her. "Ya know why. Y' promised neva ta mention dat thing wid da soda. Den ya'll go an' threaten ta tell if ah don't do wha' ya say. Dat ain't right, Paige."

"But ya'll didn' pee." She countered in seeking vindication.

"If Ah did or not, a promise-sa- promise. Now go 'way an' break yer promises wid everyone else. You an' me, we ain't ever talkin' or walkin' tagether a-gin."

Sam ran as fast as he could away from his sister. It didn't matter where. Sam meant everything he said about not being with Paige ever again until they both died.

When he thought that he had put enough distance between him and Paige, so that her little feet couldn't catch up, Sam returned to his walking pace.

The boy's mind became captured by a duo wave of thoughts. In truth, it was theses second and third ponderings, combined with Paige's broken promise that tossed Sam into a pit of confusion, shock and a seething— but silent— anger.

Firstly, who was the _Man of the house_? It couldn't have been Poppa. The Man of the House protects his family with everything that's in him. Nothing in him wants to smack his wife and kids. … Being the only male folk in this particular Guthrie household and seeing as he was the protector, Sam decided that HE was the real Man of the House. Yet, without experience, the responsibility scared him. Was he good enough to be the Man? He sure would like to have another man's ear and ask him what to expect and how to act. Like maybe, does the Man of the House tell his sister that he'd have nothing to do with her, ever— even if she deserved it?

Not to excuse an oath-taker gone traitorous, but how could she really understand what a promise meant? Paige was so little. She couldn't even pronounce some words correctly. Well, sometimes Sam forgot his "t"s, but he was old enough to know he missed them.

Then what should he do in the future? He and Poppa would eventually have to face-off when protecting the family against the violent drunk. Sam couldn't stomach the sight of the man, so he'd have no problem hitting him hard and often so as to leave him a bloody mess.

Was that right? Despite Momma's pleading, Sam hated him. But the man, skunked and brutal as he could get, was still family. Sam would have to measure his actions against him.

But then could Sam control his anger after he threw the first punch? He knew Poppa would be swinging back. It would be a terrible sight for Paige and Momma to see. Aww, hog slop— he didn't want to think about any of that right now.

But as he pushed these questions aside, something else was waiting near-by to take their place.

The boy's third confliction began to take a life of its own over the past three days. For weeks Sam had sneaked peaks at letters that Uncle Tom had wrote to Momma. Uncle Tom had moved to Kentucky back when Momma was caring Sam in her belly. He got a good job—coal mining.

Samuel Jonas always harbored an inner _sometimes-good-sometimes-weird_ feeling that he got about the letters, but the letters appeared particularly disturbing since Saturday. Maybe that reaction came because his curiosity led him to actually read them, instead of skimming through the pages.

Sam had to fill in some of the holes with his imagination, and what he sewed together was this: Momma and Uncle Tom were sweet on each other at one time. They had a bad argument and Momma turned to Poppa. It must have been a bigger-than-big squabble because they never got back together and she married Poppa instead of Uncle Tom.

Anyway, his Uncle wrote her saying that she needed to leave her husband, as he had frequently used her as a handball. The description was apt and the truth behind it made the hair on the back of Sam's head stand up bristly. For the life of him, Sam didn't know why Momma hadn't left. Nor did he know why Momma didn't take up her brother-in-law's offer to move up to Kentucky, where Uncle Tom promised to take care of all three of them.

But that's where the extra-weird feelings came in. Did Momma ever write his Uncle back? Did she ever explain why she kept herself and her children put? That drunk's fists were hard and painful, you know.

If she had gotten over Uncle Tom, why did she keep his letters in a drawer under her unmentionables? Sam thought that was a place where no one but Momma would dare look, so it all had to be a secret. It most assuredly had to be a secret from Poppa, if it was a secret to Paige and Sam. Why? Does Momma experience the same bad feelings that led Sam to do that stupid thing with the soda can?

In Sam's case, the boy was hurt, angry, in love, and some-kind-of-powerfully confused about Mary Ann and her attitude when he tried to kiss her. Now if Momma felt the same way towards his Uncle and she was a right Church-going woman…

Then again, was Momma all that good a Church-goer? Why was she keeping those letters? Did she want to… NO! NO! Momma was a good woman— she was pure and faithful to a bad husband. Sam reprimanded himself for having even the slightest doubt about her integrity.

Though Sam had to figure out the answer to those nagging questions, horrible conclusions shouldn't be assumed. Just take a look at the few times that Uncle Tom came around. Now, Sam knew when other people visit relatives, they slept over at the house. Momma was always relieved when he stayed at a hotel.

With all the commotion going on in his head, Sam failed to notice that he made his way to the area's favorite river. He and his pals would come here after school and take a refreshing swim after being inside of a hot class room for hours. They would also participated in games such as finding out who could stay underwater the longest.

The boys had also nurtured their devilish sides. There was a group of old white women who came to the river where it took a more-than casual bend to the right. They would sit on rocks that the water bounced off of before continuing its path. These old women put their legs into the water no deeper than mid-calves. They would gossip about the dumbest things, but the boys knew how to stop that. Up stream, Sam and his pals would catch harmless snakes and toads and place them on whatever could float. At a distance, they'd angle their "Navy" so that the currents would bring the critters towards land at the same exact place where the clucking old hens sat.

If the women would have held off on their screams, they would have heard a group of boys cheering and laughing at a distance. As an added incentive to behave as demons, the boy with the closest "hit" (thereby causing the loudest commotion) got to pick out an extra morsel from his pals' lunch bags on the following school day.

Even now, in summer, the gang would end up here about the same time— 3:15—to cool off. But this was morning, and Sam was alone. It was just as well.

Sam sat a distance from the river, under a tree's shade to think about Momma and about Uncle Tom's offer.

It was a while, but Sam turned his head towards a sudden whimpering behind him. Paige was standing by another tree… a considerably wider tree. Sam discovered that his bewilderment over Momma had replaced his anger towards his little sister.

Now, Paige still had a linger of baby fat on her arms. He watched as her small, rollie right arm held Holly and her left forearm made a cushion between her little forehead and the tree trunk. Her little eyes were set on her brother, but she didn't come close. Maybe the effort to fight back the tears exhausted her. Or maybe she was too sc—wait a minute! _TOO SCARED?! OF SAM?! _

Sam muttered, "Scared a me? Wha' in_ Blue Yonder _was wrong with that li'l angel? Oh,… that's right. … My stupid words are _wha's wrong_."

Sam had learned to read Paige by the grip she had on Holly. It was tight, so Paige's insides must have been matching her face. Paige looked sadder than a hungry baby chic scratching for food on a concrete floor. She moved behind the tree when she saw Sam looking at her, but the whimpers were still heard… and they still daggered Sam's heart.

The boy walked over and around the tree. Paige again moved to the other side to avoid her brother's eyes. Sam walked around again, she moved around again. It didn't take long before they were giggling and forgetting who was chasing who around the thick tree.

Sam stopped and made an about face. He opened his arms to accept the unexpected girl's coming. But what was really unexpected was going to be the strength of her charge. In a second, Paige was going to knock the breath out of him.

Paige screeched in surprise at seeing him. He eyes widened at seeing a stone-faced girl running into him. They hit. He winced like a cargo truck had just struck him. They fell and rolled on the ground. The rolling stopped some yards away from the tree with Paige giggling into his chest and Sam looking into the blue sky wondering how he could have been so stupid as to not check if Paige was still flesh-and-blood before stopping her. Sam stayed still a few moments trying to get some air into his lungs.

Her hair was still "hair". Sam stroked it like Momma always stroked his hair when they had quiet time back when he was a little boy. But the stone girl started to become heavy and he rolled her off of him.

"Paige, get back ta bein' a girl," he said in that strict, but caring way that Momma talked.

On their knees, Sam helped her brush away her cracking façade. Before they finished her arms, the tiny girl worriedly searched her brother's face. Paige asked, "Ya'in hayd me, Sam?"

He looked into her green-gray eyes without a word. Then he said, "Hate ya? Yeah—I hates ya'll like a duck hates water….. Like you hate ice cream."

Paige's face brightened with a wide smile. "Strawberry ice cream?"

Sam playfully tapped his forehead against his sister's forehead. "Like a triple scoop of the_ bestest_,_ yummiest_ strawberry ice cream with rainbow sprinkles on the top and sweet little chucks of banana lining the bowl around it.

"Even if I'm angry , Ah'd neva hate my Paige. Ah loves ya'in too much."— Sam pressed his cheek against her cheek. Then the boy abruptly swung his face back from her— " And don't be telling anybody Ah said Ah loves ya'll, hear?"

Actually, that didn't include Momma. She delighted in hearing her children say that to one another. And Sam had sworn her to secrecy concerning those types of things.

Sam turned away so that Paige could lift her dress. She pulled the hem up to her neck and then secured it with a chin-to-chest pressure. She then shook and brushed the pebbles out of her little panties. After she finished, she skipped in front of her brother and hugged him dearly. Sam kissed the top of her head and she nearly took off his front teeth as she pulled quickly away. Paige had a late reply to her brother's last request.

Paige smiled and said, "Ah p'omise nodda dell _annnny body_. … An' Ah p'omise nodda say anydin' abou' da soda can doo. A p'omise iz-em a p'omise."

Paige ran back to the tree, the place of impact, and she retrieved Holly. She extended her doll towards him. Sam was wary about touching Holly even with no one around. But since he was the "doctor" who, a while back, had re-stuffed her with cotton and sewed her up, maybe it was okay to kiss and embrace his patient. What wasn't all that okay was what always came after.

The fleshy Paige dove into him— this time, purposely— and as they tumbled down a grassy hill. Sam's right elbow shot out whenever the tumbling motion caused his weight to come on top of her. The Man of the House always had to shield your sister from being crushed under his own heaviness. They landed on the grass with his sore elbow resting beside him and Paige's little face again on his chest.

She looked up into his eyes and asked, "How come ya'll neva dold me ya'll like me, a fwe… Ah mean…"

"You just keep rememberin' wha' Momma said. Yaw'in no freak and Ah'm not either."

"Dad's nod wha' poppa said."

Sam held back a fiery reaction to that statement. He rolled his sister off of him and they sat up to face each other. He tightened his facial muscles to hide his "disgust-look " for the man who was never the protector. Momma said that it was a sin to hate his father. It upset the Lord a mighty -fill. Besides like Momma said, Paige didn't have to know how he felt.

"An' yaw'in promised Momma neva ta call ya'llself dat… "—he corrected himself— "eh, that.

"Momma told us Poppa don't think straight at times. So what are we, Paige?"

"We's child'en wid special gif's f'om da Lo'd Jesus and we's keeps 'em hidden so'd nod do f'ieighden folks who don'd hab ow-a gif's."

Her brother got on his knees and gave her a hug so that his right cheek rested on her head.

"Dat's right , li'l angel," Sam said.

She tilted her head to the side. "Bud sdill, why didn' ya'll dell me?"

The memory of Poppa's hands around Sam's collar exploded in his head. His father brought him close so that man and boy were eye-to-eye. That's when Sam knew how serious the alcohol-stinking, mad man was when he threatened a powerful beat-down if the boy didn't keep his yep shut over his freakiness.

"It was a mistake, Paige. I thought it was some'in' ya'll didn' want ta hear. It might frighten ya'll."….

Sam was sure, right then and there, that the only real mistake he had committed was to listen to that disgusting man. The only real fear that had concerned Sam at the time was the "wuppin'" that the older Guthrie male had promised to administer if a peep came out of Sam's mouth to shame his father. Still, at the time he lifted Sam up by his collar— if the boy's self-protection instincts had kicked in, it would have been costly to the man.

Paige forgot her dolly for a second and cupped her brother's face. She knew that the gesture would bring Sam's mind back from whatever realm his mind had found itself lost.

Sam's eyes lost its faraway look in time to see his sister shake her head from side to side. "Ah'm neve bein' scaid a ya'll."—almost singing, she continued— " Yaw'in mah bwa-da. Yaw'in my Sam Jonas."

She tapped her head against his and released him. Sam smiled with a sense of pride. Even if she never used the term "The Man of the House," the girl knew who her protector was.

"Ah love mah bwa-da," she began singing as she skipped around him. It was part of their Sunday School singing ritual. Sam did his part, reciting how he loved his sister and together they were loved by Jesus. But he then reminded Paige that they couldn't stay away from shade for too long. Mississippi summers weren't at all loving.

They went to the river. Provided that they took off their shoes and socks, it wasn't a fret-fit problem to get all wet. They knew that by lunch time, their clothes would be dry… or maybe just _drier_. There they laughed and splashed each other a long while. Then they ran towards the trees. The hot weather was not getting the better of the cleaver Guthrie clan.

Brother and sister sat under an oak and their conversation was a pleasant surprise for the boy. Paige was actually taking in what he was saying for more than 15 seconds at a time. Yep, she was growing up.

They talked about the serious-like things—the care and feeding of Holly, for instance. They talked about the forgivable things— one being, the subject of hiding his special powers from his sister. Since "L'od Jesus" was the forgiving type and he wanted all children to act likewise, Paige afforded Sam that gift. … But only after she punched his left arm so hard that the surprised boy's right shoulder went crashing down on the grass. Retaliation never entered the mind of the Man of the House— among other things, he deserved it if he listened to … _that man_. But darn, if he didn't land on the arm with the bruised elbow. Now both his punch-side triceps and his fall-on elbow were experiencing pain.

Before long, the curly-haired three-year-old revealed that just before going home yesterday, she heard that Martha Ann kicked Sam's rival, Peter Hanson, in the knee and then she reached for the boy's hair.

Not wanting to be prematurely bald before his fifties, Pete ran like a rodent who spotted a cat. At a safe distance, he apologized for whatever he had said to make her madder than someone going to the bathroom and finding out that the toilet roll had no paper.

Sam always knew that she couldn't tolerate the Hanson boy beyond that first ice cream cone. He'd bought it, she'd eaten it. After that, she couldn't be found by ol' freckle-faced Pete. He'll never learn.

After a while their bodies were awakened to the climbing heat. Even the once fresh breeze was feeling warm. The Guthrie siblings decided that it was about time that they splash themselves with water again.

Upon returning to the shade, Paige and Sam heard youthful laughter coming from the other side of the trees—it was where the river curved back around the bend.

It was too early in the day for their pals to come to the river, but it had to them. With great anticipation, sister and brother followed the laughter. A collection of large bushes was located just before that particular part of the riverbank. It was from behind one of those overgrown bushes that the Guthries saw something that brought them to a gasped halt.

Paige got over the sight quicker than Sam, but then again Sam had more years of apprehension drilled into him. The little girl ventured forward from behind the bush before Sam snapped back to the present. The boy ran out and grabbed the top of her shoulders. He pulled her close to his body.

The laughter stopped. Sam and Paige stood in front of the revelers, who also froze in their spots. To the siblings eyes, they might as well have been looking at a still photograph of a collection of Negro children in the water.

"So this is why nobody neva came he-ah before 3 o' clock," Sam unthinkingly blurted out.

"Indeed, young man," a middle aged, heavy set Negro woman said without fear. "But there IS someone he-ah befo' 3 o' clock. Jus' not ya'll kind."

The woman was one of three fat negro women sitting on a large flat rock with her feet in the water. Everything about the scene was so familiar. It was as if Sam was looking at the older white women— but only their picture negatives.

But… the woman speaking… the others… if it wasn't for the obvious, they could pass for the "battleships" that his friends had often torpedoed with critters. This was, in itself, a shock. Paige turned back to her brother with a smile, but Sam was too shaken to ask why she was grinning.

"Does anyone else know?" Sam asked. Everyone knew that the boy's "anyone" meant white folks.

No one spoke as both Negro and White silently studies each other. After what appeared to be an eternity of awkward staring, the darker children came out of the water. They walked away toweling themselves, speaking in low mutterings.

The woman who had responded to Sam had at first appeared to protest. Maybe she wanted to tell the children to stay. But then the woman had second thoughts. She got up and she shook her head angrily at no one. She then looked at Sam and Paige with a face that expressed a bundle of sourness hog-tied with sadness. Then she turned her back to them— that face of disappointment and anger was replaced by a cheery yellow headscarf. The woman joined the others in their departure.

Now, Sam didn't want to spoil their fun. It was just that them being here was wrong. Or was it? He could not nearly come up with a reason, but still … wasn't it? The water was moving continuously, so if white folks were offended by touching the water that the Negros swam in….

Sam was sidetracked from that thought by remembering that the Negro kids laughter sounded like his pals' outburst. They didn't sound like wild animals, as some folks said. They played like his friends— smiled like his friends, also. But them being there was …. _wrong_… really… sort of… maybe.

Again deep in thought, Sam failed to observe Paige and a dark girl around Paige's age face-to face. They were giggling. The river water on her skin gave her round, happy, dark-mahogany face a glow that competed with her shiny teeth for eye-catching attention.

Paige was telling the little Negro girl how Holly has problems bed wetting. The girl responded that her stuffed bonnet-on-the-head grey kitty, Hermione—or rather "Hay-my-nee"— had the same problem. But as good mothers, it was up to them to wake them up in the middle of the night to pee.

Sam thought it would be best for all if he pulled his sister away. Suddenly, he turned to the sound of splashing. A boy about Sam's age came running across the shallow sides of the river towards them. His red, plaid shirt was tied around where his belly button should have been and it was wet only at the bottom. His bottom half still had his swimming trunks. The faded-red trunks looked like it was a hand-me down, as it appeared bunched up on his left side…. No doubt, the pinned side. Sam could definitely relate to that. Sam's trunks were faded-green, though.

"Come on, Sam, let's get," the Colored boy said, frazzled.

Huh? How did he know Sam? And why did he think that Sam was going with him anywhere?

The dark boy reached for the little girl with the kitty-doll and pulled on her free arm.

"Sam, when Ah call ya'll, ya'll lis-sens."

"Ya'll name is Sam?" Paige squealed with delight.

The chocolate girl stopped and fought against the older boy's pull. She turned and her angry face flashed a smile at Paige.

"Yeah'em. Ah'm Samanda Lucas."

"Shut up, girl" the boy said increasing the strength of his pull. "Dey ain't inta-sted in ow-a names."

"Yes'im we ahh," Paige said in the middle of her own sibling-tugging exercise. "Don' go. We's weady da play house. Wight?"

At that revelation, the two darker children stopped in their tracks— the Negro and white boy's mouth hung open in astonishment. The smiling white girl pulled her brother towards the duo and made an announcement.

"Sam, meet mah Sam. He's mah big bwadda."

Two sets of black-brown eyes shifted to the Caucasian boy's face. Sam didn't know what to do.

Paige quickly grabbed Samantha's hand. The combine strength of the two girls freed the colored three-year-old from her stunned brother's grip. They skipped away laughing and planning their play date away.

"Ah don't think this is gonna go on ta somethin' good," Sam inwardly groaned.


	14. Chapter 14: Some Folks

Chapter 14: Some Folks Never Have To Worry About Boredom.

"Shut up you're doing it," Brygtka ordered her sister. ""You are great at this."

About the time when 9-year-old Sam Guthrie was chasing his sister around the tree in Mississippi, a 57-year-old in New York thought that she accidently slipped into The Twilight Zone.

Delfina could not believe what was happening, much less how she became ensnared in it. Actually, she couldn't remember much pass Brygtka's pushes against her back to speed up Delfina's steps. How she ended up sitting between the other two females on Yolanda's bed with innumerable magazine pictures of hairstyle systematically shoved in front of her face was still a mystery.

Because Yolanda was as at home with the Polish languish as with any other, the conversation was very easy for the older sisters to follow. But communication wasn't the issue for Delfina.

"Stop, stop, stop," Delfina demanded. Everything was spinning and she wanted to get control of at least her part in this conspiracy.

"This is being done to win Henry? Does he have a say in this?"

Yolanda shook her head "no", but a sudden rush of shame stilled her head movement. On the other hand, _**shame**_ was not in Brygtka's vocabulary when it came to war—and this was indeed war.

Brygtka bristly asked "What _saaaay_ should he have"?" To emphasis "say" she faintly shook her head. "For centuries we women have been the real decision-makers. Men are too stupid to know what is best for them. Look at who Henry wants for a girlfriend. Tell me he's not a typical man—clueless, stupid."

Yolanda wasn't happy about those words being attributed to such a wonderful man. She would have protested, but from the corner of her eye she saw Delfina move her lips to the right side of her face. That was the very same expression that the young woman took when she was faced with considering a response to a spoken truth. To win the debate, Yolanda could ill-afford breaking ranks with the pushy Brygitka right now.

Brygtka continued, "We're just moving him out of a mine field into"—she brought one arm in front of her sister to hold Yolanda's silvery hair. She slowly continued to lift her hand upward. This gave the strands that returned to gravity's control an appearance of a light spring shower—"a beautiful garden."

The young woman smiled broadly, thankful for that sister's support. Yolanda turned to the other sister who was closer to her. Delfina's left arm wrapped across her own torso, while the right index finger drummed a steady, quiet beat against her lips.

She began an argument to discourage the idea. "I don't really think -"

"That's just it," Brygtka interrupted. "You sometimes don't think. You take conversations with males too seriously and this is the consequence. You just keep quite. You know that Henry can only gain in this matter. Yolanda and I will pick the style and you make it happen."

Yolanda thought she should add a compliment to tip the scale in her favor.

"Delfina, I saw all those picture of all those women that you worked on for weddings and special occasions. They were fantastic. Your daughters, Mr. Stark's secretary, Henry's sister— the all looked like they had their hair styled in very expensive salons. You are the Michelangelo of the Styling World."

Brygitka nudged her young friend and whispered, "Don't push it. She already knows that and she'll be impossible to live with for the next few days if you say things like that."

The spirited woman then slapped a magazine photo on Yolanda's lap and pointed to an actress, Tippy Hedren. The brilliant, but sensitive young woman gave a small shudder. She had remembered that same photo taken from a film that scared her last year—_The Birds_. Yolanda then noticed the hand that led her eyes to the picture.

"Dear Lord, Brygitka. Your knuckles are all red."

Brygtka looked at her sister and said. "Someone was slapped on her hand by an inconsiderate person wearing a heavy wedding ring."

Delfina replied, "Maybe the inconsiderate person was the one who wouldn't stop pushing that other someone from behind."

"Del, just take some tea and we'll get back to you when we decide on a look."

The older sister (by 8 minutes) looked to her right at the tray that Yolanda had prepared on her vanity table, Del stood up and walked to the table miffed. The older sibling had no problem ignoring etiquette by keeping her back to the two women for more than a few seconds. As a matter of fact, if she didn't have to look at them for a week, that would have suited her just fine.

Imagine— dismissed and regulated to underling by the snippy Brygitka. She had been set up by Brygtka a million times before, but for her to join herself to this young woman against Del was extra irritating.

Del loved Yolanda as a dear young friend, but she wasn't family. The idea that her own flesh-and-blood would team up with someone who WASN'T just to corral her was almost unpardonable to the family-centric woman.

And if she was annoyed, why not take a leaf from her sister's playbook and spread the misery? There was a question that Delfina had held prisoner behind her teeth. The aggravation that these two had brought her became the key that could unlock the cage.

Delfina took a sip of her cup and turned around. Seeing the two of them so happily smug about their impending success, moved Del to fling open the jail cell.

With a raised eyebrow, she sighed. "Oh yes, we must do this for our dear Henry's good. It is 100 percent for Henry's good."

Yolanda nodded and then returned to the magazines. Brygitka, on the other hand, knew her sister. She looked up to Del with a "don't mess this up" look.

"I mean," Del continued, "the fact that neither of you two can stand Janet Van Dyne has nothing to do with it. This plan to win his heart is entirely motivated by seeking his happiness."

Now all four eyes became moths to Delfina's lantern- face.

Brygitka responded, "Don't start sounding so superior, sister dear. Your own feelings for that witch are not at all that different from ours."

Del responded, "I won't lie, but I have chosen not to openly displayed my displeasure, as you two have. … As I suspect you two are now doing now."

The momentary silence was long enough for the thought provoking woman to continue.

"Be aware, dear Yolanda and my de… mmmph, Brygtka"—her tune upon mentioning her sister's name was less than sisterly—"We are not little girls in a playground hiding a ball from another girl whom we find extremely bossy and obnoxious. We are full ground women… at least we two are."—Delfina looked at Yolanda.

"We are also talking about a human being; a good and fine man. I want to make sure that our motives are right. I want to make sure that if we get Henry away from that woman, that he will not be a plaything to be enjoyed now and then forgotten later because there will be no competition for his affections."

Her sister gave her an incredulous look. In the middle of her facial contortion, she openly asked if Del had lost her mind. Yolanda, though, stoned her features and with determination replied.

"I appreciate your concerns. I had also asked myself that question."

Brygtka turned to her and gasped, _"What?!"_

"Delfina, Brygtka, I asked myself that at least three times, today. I was so surprised at my own reaction to the newspaper articles. I felt sad, yet at the same time relived and happy. I stopped and asked myself, do I hate Jan that much that I would do this?

"All three times my heart shouted, 'No, I love this man so much that I would do this.'

"Delfina, I have been here more than 8 months and I have studied this wonderful man. My admiration, I thought, was for a good man. Then I said it was for a good friend. Weeks later, I said it is because he filled the role of the caring and supporting father that all my life I wished I could have enjoyed.

This very morning I found out that I had been lying to myself. Well, for the past month and a half, anyway. I want you to understand that I definitely am attracted to him. I want to spend special time with him, not as his assistant, nor his friend. I want to see if we can pursue a relationship. I would rather die that use him in a scheme to extract vengeance. I'd rather die slowly and painfully than to hurt him."

Those ice-blue eyes invaded Del's soul. And as inexplicable as it was, the older woman felt Yolanda's sincerity. She smiled at the young woman.

Their somewhat mystical union was interrupted by her sister. Brygika blared out. "So there." She also made a face to punctuate the victory over Del's challenge.

The two women continued scanning pages for a hairstyle. Delfina leaned against the wall by the vanity and took another sip of her tea. She then let out another prisoner.

"Stop."

"What is it now," Brygitka responded with great annoyance. "If you aren't going to help then get back to your housework."

"I said stop. You are wasting valuable time. Do you think he will stay asleep for hours until you two decide? You are also wasting your time in another way."

She placed her cup on the vanity table and moved towards the bed.

"Yolanda's hair is straight. It would take too long to attempt a perm. Besides, who said that straight isn't lovely? Now look at her present cut: Bangs come down in the front. Her hair by the sides fall to her jaw line. Her hair increase in length as it moves backwards to finally end a 'U" shape inches below her neck."

Del's right four fingers lifted Yolanda's chin. The old woman smiled a motherly smile.

"We can work beautifully using your strengths."—with a wink, Del continued—"With some odorless hairspray and white hairclips."

* * *

The high security Clinton Correctional Facility called New York State's Dannemora Hills its home. A half-hour earlier, the embracing tranquility of the scenery had impressed Attorney Arthur Shapiro. Now after Arthur visited inmate number 4756689, the good mood that the idyllic surroundings had produced were smashed and forgotten.

Arthur couldn't understand why Dr. OttoGunther Octavius, imprisoned for months, did not take the employment offer. He could have left prison early. Oscorp would provide all requirements needed for a work-release program. Dr. Octavius would also be receiving a handsome salary to do nothing but follow Arthur's brother-in-law around town. It would have left him plenty of spare time and accessibility to Oscorp labs where he could continue his research in atomic engineering— that was Dr. Octavius' passion before the explosion that had strangely united his body to a vest that had four powerful mechanical arms. Of course, for the correctional facility's security reasons, minor surgery was performed to separate the prisoner from the vest.

Behind the wheel of his car, Arthur replayed the puzzling conclusion of his visit. There he was, sitting in the facility's visitor center. The attorney offered the proposal to the man whom the world knew as Doctor Octopus. From behind the protective glass the doctor seemed interested; he even smiled. Then, as if his mind was switched with that of a different inmate, his face went blank. There was no gradual change in his reception to Arthur's words; no explanation as to what happened, nothing.

Dr. Octavius stood up unexpectedly and told Arthur that he should go out and enjoy the scenery. The doctor called for the guards to take him away, and that was it.

Oh, heavens—another failure. Norman wasn't going to like this one bit. After a few minutes, Arthur rolled his caddy onto the parking lot of a roadside dinner. He wasn't that hungry. It was just that his lucrative job had its bad sides. One bad point was that he needed anti-anxiety pills. Arthur needed liquid to swallow a pill and perhaps a small sandwich— the medicine was to be taken with a meal.

He took only two bites of the sandwich, but he figured that it was enough to help speed the pill's effect. Having made the necessary actions to remedy his racing heart, the Oscorp lawyer returned to his car to close his eyes for a few minutes.

Feeling better, he got out of his car and courageously marched up to a payphone just outside of the diner. It was later in the morning and he had to find out from his secretary—his cousin Beth— if there were any calls concerning his solicitations to prospective employees.

Between "pops" of her bubblegum, Beth replied, 'Yeeeah, Aw-rt. Dwayne called. Could you _immmagine_? I offer to get him a job wid yous at da company"—Arthur groaned at the prospect—"an' he sayz no.

"He'z da faw-ther of my kid an' I cut him a break, but he sayz he needz to be a may-an an' get hiz own joe-ob. Like wha's he may-anning up fo-ah after 8 monthz, an astronaut? Well, maybe. I think sometimez he's in his own orbit, ya know?

"What a _loooozer_. What I saw in him, I'll nev—"

Arthur cut in, "Beth that's all interesting, but what about the employment picture with the contacts that I told you about?"

"Dwayne could be a great baw-dy gwa-ard, ya know? Of course, ya gatta keep lick-a away from him. Ya gotta call him to makez sho-ah he doezn' oversleep an' getz ta work late. Ya gatta call him again at midday an' make sho-ah dat he doesn' oversleep past lunch ow- are. Ya gatta frisk 'im ta make sho-ah he ain't carryin' a radio so dat he liz-zenz ta music and fa-getz where he iz. Make sho-ah he doesn' have a newspaper, cuz he spendz most morning checkin' da racez an' callin' his bookie. Then ya just gatta.."

"Beth. .. _BETH!_ Concentrate. The names I left you. What about them?

"Oh, they aren't as good as Dwayne."

"_**BETH, DAMN IT! **_ _**Did they call?"**_

"Don't get so upity, wit me. Yell one more tie-yam and I'm hangin' up."

Upon hearing a small whimper from her boss and cousin, Beth relented. She began, "Oh, awl right. Dis here Voor-guy."

"Voorhees," Arthur replied anxiously.

"Yeah, can't you get guyz named Jonez or Smith? Anyways, he sayz – wait I got it written somewhere. … He says 'thankz'. "

"Thanks. But …?" Arthur asked, fearing the worst.

"No, just thanks."

"Beth is he signing on?"

"Isn't that what I just said, Aw-rt? Pay attention. He sayz don't call him. He'z movin' around from place ta place. He'll call you at 1. … Oh an' a guy who didn't leave hiz name sayz … You or Lu or Boo.

"Lu Chen?"

"Yeeah, how'd ya know? He sayz it's ready. Yous orderin' Chinese food so early Aw-rt?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's a new diet I'm trying so as to gain weight. Thanks and 'bye."

Arthur hung up with equal amounts of relief and questioning. Could he do better by just putting his phone on 24-hour tape messaging?

* * *

Yolanda knocked on Hank's bedroom door. Hank snapped up to a sitting position on his bed. It was as if he was a youngster who discovered that he was late for the school bus. Whatever he was dreaming about had retreated into the chamber of forgotten fantasies. Yolanda called to him from behind the closed door. He responded in a hoarse voice.

She popped her head into the room. The way he rubbed his eyes seemed adorably child-like to the young woman. Henry took his fingers away and his sleepy eyes left her with an inner "Awww".

"Wow", Hank responded. "You look different. Heck, you look sensational."

Yolanda's silvery hair was parted on her left side and the strand swirls that made her fair flow over her left ear and move the longer length to her right shoulder looked great. Even her bangs swayed to her right. She ventured future into his room with a wide smile on her face and a tray holding a tea kettle, small cups of sugar and cream and his favorite mug.

She wouldn't walk with swayed her hips as Brygitka ordered, but her outfit was still enough to make Henry say, "Forget just 'wow'. This is wow _to the millionth degree_."

It felt great to be appreciated in this way, but Yolanda still didn't seem right.

She couldn't imagine what he was going to feel when he discovers Janet's betrayal. Especially cruel was HOW he'll discover it. The images and articles would add to the weight of his humiliation as the public knew about the scandal before he did. Maybe Yolanda should say something, but she just couldn't bring herself to be the bearer of bad news

"Are you okay?" Yolanda asked with a smile.

"Sure, why you ask?"

The brilliant woman mentioned that he was usually up by 7 AM and it was already 9:40. Hank groaned, explaining that he didn't hear his alarm.

"That's not a valid reply. You always wake up ten minutes before your alarm rings."

Hank looked at her in astonishment. "I must have told you that ages ago."

Leaning on the doorframe, she responded, "Yes. Our first breakfast together—almost nine months ago."

Henry shook his head in wonder and returned the smile that seemed to be pasted on Yolanda's attractive face. She told him that he presently had a phone call from a _Peter Parker_. If he had called earlier in the morning, as had a previous caller, she'd have told him to call again later. But at twenty to ten ….

Hank couldn't stop looking at Yolanda in a hypnotized way. Finally, in embarrassment (which she picked up on) Hank looked away and nodded at his phone on the bed stand. He instantly forgot to inquire about the first caller when he heard Peter's name. The four clear buttons located close to the bottom of his phone unit meant that he had access to four different lines. He mouthed "thank you." He ignored a steady red lit button to press the blinking button on the lower right.

A recorded message came on just before the phone connected him to the caller. The message said, "Five messages on A1"

That was the line with the steady lit button. That was also the secured Ant-man's line. Henry's mood darkened at the recorded voice— it belonged to Janet.

In her nervousness, Yolanda failed to notice that the milk cup was empty. It had been depleted by her and her co-conspirators. Well, at least she can go back to the kitchen and say that their make-over was a success. Yolanda had never seen Hank so taken back by her.

"I'll get you some cream," Yolanda said, and she left the room.

In the kitchen, the young woman gave a glowing report of the operation. Delfina couldn't believe that she was hoping up and down along with the other two. She hadn't been this animated since… maybe her school days?

When Yolanda returned, Hank was sitting up on the bed and one of his feet tapped impatiently on the floor. It was his particular way to show that he was waiting for his turn to talk.

"Hold it, Peter," Hank said over the phone. "Calm down. Firstly, shouldn't you be in school?

Okay, okay," Hank continued. "But cashing-in on the scholarship isn't the wisest thing to do in the long run. ….Yes, I know about Jameson. Yes, I know most of what you're going through, but take a deep breath and grab a pad and pencil."

In the subsequent silence, Hank looked into Yolanda's eyes and smiled appreciatively as she set the milk by his night stand. He followed her every movement as if he was seeing her for the first time and… he was out-and-out floored.

Then he was returned to the present when Peter Parker returned to the phone. Henry recited a phone number and the name Raymond Ailes. Yolanda always marveled at Henry's ability to remember numbers and names. Being his Spanish teacher, Yolanda felt all the more valuable to him because his memory retention didn't extend to foreign languishes.

Henry explained that Ray was one of the two head writers on NBC's nation-wide Huntley-Brinkley Report. If Jameson didn't want anything to do with the cash-strapped teen, Ray would look at his photos and offer a fair price. Well, "fair" in as much as a telecast used live motion images … and photos weren't high on their priority list.

"Peter, when you get him on the phone you need to say something silly. 'Things are Pym-ly wonderful.' He'll know that I sent you.

"And before you ask, no— I didn't make up that dumb greeting. Call me if he doesn't want to play ball. I'll have my sister straighten him out. Good-bye."

In answer to Yolanda's question, Hank dismissed the call as a "small errand for the errant." Yolanda playfully pressed him for information. He confided that_ the_ _Peter_ on the phone was the same High School student who received Henry Pym's scholarship a month ago. He was also a freelance photographer for the Daily Bugle.

When the Daily Bugle newspaper credited him with the pictures, the teen insisted on using _Richard Fitzpatrick._

Because Hank had become familiar with Peter's get-in-there style photos, he did a bit of investigating. Peter had taken his father's first name and his mother's maiden name to form this third persona.

"Third persona?" Yolanda asked.

Hank froze. Did he inadvertently offer Yolanda's curiosity a bait? Henry had to get out of anything alluding to Peter's crime-fighting side. Quickly, he added: student and shutter-bug were two aspects of the youth.

"Oh, and he's also a dedicated nephew to his aunt," Hank noted to complete all sides of the youth.

"You won't tell me about his second persona," Yolanda replied. "Okay."

"Now why would you say that? Didn't I just…" Henry stopped. He saw that Yolanda wasn't buying that. She was as good as his sister in seeing through him.

She replied, "Henry you're a good and honest man. Those qualities make it easy to read when you're being evasive.

"How so?" he asked.

Yolanda could have told him that he fidgeted and looked away when he skipped around the whole truth. Instead she replied that if he had his secrets, then she was entitled to her own.

"Okay, then", Hank said in steering the conversation towards safer roads. "Peter has photos to sell, but due to a foul-up, his editor doesn't even want to see him. With no ID stating that he is this _Richard Fitzgerald_, no other newspaper editor would bother seeing him. As far as they are concerned, he's just a novice kid trying desperately to break into the big league.

"Why did he use a Pseudonym?" Yolanda asked.

Hank answered, 'Well aren't you the clever little beauty. You think to extract information from another angle because you think I'm something, huh? Like I said, he has his reasons."

"But I'll bet you know. That makes it two _Henry's secrets_ to Yolanda's _one_. I'll have to catch up somehow."

The message behind the brilliant assistant's humor was not lost on Hank. He envisioned people asking how Peter Parker could take so many photos of Spider-man without there being a partnership between the two. That would've spelled trouble for the teen and his aunt if one of his enemies wanted to get to Spider-man through a connected party.

"Listen," Hank finally said. "Maybe we shouldn't be in my bedroom together."

"Agreed," Yolanda said taking the tray back up. "Brigitka is bound to suspect something scandalous. I'll leave you the mug and milk. I'll tell the Delfina to expect you for breakfast soon."

During his teeth brushing and grooming, the biochemist scolded himself. Ms. Vanko was too bright. She had the capability of diverting pass his roadblocks to get to the truth. To keep his secret, he had to check his words twice before talking to Yolanda. It wasn't because Hank didn't trust her to keep things confidential. He was tight lipped because he himself had no right to be privy to two discoveries, much less share them.

Erica insisted that Hank inform industrialist Tony Stark of an impending theft of his satellites. But no one knew what happened after the Ant-man squeezed through the window of an apartment that Stark had over his office building. The Ant-man had unintentionally overheard the multi-millionaire lament over his secret identify— Iron Man. Just as his stubborn sister pushed him into the direction of that revelation, Erica also hurled him into the path of another one, months earlier.

That was when he discovered Spider-man's identity. Hank remembered it vividly. It all started when …

* * *

Ref: Dr. Octopus' prisoner number came from Spider-man Annual #1 (1964)

Post scripts: I have said a hundred times that the great writings found in the Superman-Wonder Woman group were inspiring and educational. But there is another writer (not connected with the SM/WW authors) on the Fan Fiction site whom I also have to thank.

Wasp9000 had firstly reminded me that Giant-man and the Wasp were also contributors to the rise of Marvel Comics. She also had wow-ed me with her talent in dialogue writing. Her characters speak fluidly and they intelligently answer each another. They don't drag down the narration, but help it along. The dialogue between Yolanda and the sisters was tough, but I remembered Wasp9000's style of cutting off the excess (even what I thought that I originally wrote wittier remarks) to reveal the characters without tiring the reader.

As with the writers on SM/WW group, I don't claim that I'm in her class, but I'm glad she (and they) are around to not only entertain, but also show me the way to better writing. I only wish that my schedule would free me up to see what these talented authors are doing recently,.

Secondly, I haven't forgotten about Jan Van Dyne. She is a late riser and I'm using her sleep time and the lull in the Pym-Van Dyne drama to catch up on things that had been carelessly ignored. I refer to the teasing nature of Thor and his power (which Marvel has tragically watered down). Also exhibited was the sorry excuse that Tony Stark uses to continue to be a drunk and a slut.

Speaking of which, both Tony and Jan have terrible boundaries concerning the opposite sex and one would never consider them candidates to be one's husband/ wife. They both can repulse readers, but they can still perform heroic deeds for society. Yes, one would be better off being a rescued stranger than an intimate partner, but a part of their character still forces you to call them "HEROES."

By the way, that sentence in Chapter One where Hank laments that her flirtatious practices have invited un-pleasantries into his life is still unexplained. Be patient—remember she's a late sleeper and questions about her can be answered easier if she isn't around to distract the divulgers.

-HC


	15. Chapter 15: Expectations And Reality

Chapter 15 : Expectations and Reality

He bent his body over the bathroom sink. Henry Pym cupped his hands under faucet and brought the water to his face. He blankly looked at the water that ran down to his chin and eventually dropped back into the sink. After deflecting Yolanda's question, his mind was sending him back in time— to October of 1963. He went back to the discovery that the Erica and Henry had shared with no one.

Erica insisted that she and Henry go to Florida to console her childhood friend, Martha Stapleton Connors after her husband disappeared. Martha had feared that her husband, Dr. Curtis Connors, had fallen victim to the Lizard. The Lizard was the name that newspapers gave a half-human half-reptilian being with incredible strength. The fact that the creature only terrorized and then hid in the Florida Everglades only added to Henry's skepticism.

While Erica comforted Martha, the deductive woman figured out that Martha knew a few small details about the Lizard that the media had not exposed to the public. Add to the fact that the Lizard stories appeared only a day after her husband had disappeared, and Erica told her friend that "_horse crap_ is what you feed a farm soil, not a caring friend."

Little brother wasn't in on the exposure, though. While Martha opened up to Erica at the Connor's home, Hank had taken on his inch-high identity and ventured into the Everglades. He used his cybernetic impulses to assemble his insect detectives to ascertain human presence, alive or dead. With his Boy Scout campfire days long behind him, Hank had no use for monster stories and thus he didn't expect to encounter this Lizard-thing. Then it happened. Close to sunset, the Ant-man had stumble into a fight between the Lizard and an arachnid-attired hero, Spider-man.

The latter did a great job at staying beyond the reach of the slashing claws of the stronger, scaly figure. Because this happened weeks before the Pym Particles could be altered to produce a giant version of himself, the Ant-man's one recourse was to gather an army of insects and readied them to join the battle.

Suddenly, the two combatants entered a long-ago abandoned fortress. In a strange turn of event, Spider-man took out a test tube from who-knows-where and dropped a mysterious liquid into the Lizard's mouth. That close encounter maneuver forced Spider-man into a hand-to-hand combat where the hero was getting his butt handed to him. Ant-man was ready to have his winged Air Force attack the Lizard's eyes and thereby rescue the hero, but it became unnecessary. Whatever was in that liquid caused a great physical transformation. The Lizard disappeared and the mystery of the missing Dr. Connors was solved.

Spider-man reunited the couple, but that wasn't the end of the story. Hank's curiosity over finding a New York crusader in Florida gripped him. The fact that the red-and-blue adventure had the intellect to know what the mystery serum was capable of doing added to his inquisitiveness. It also intrigued Erica. Her last words to the Ant-man, who had mounted her shoulder, was "Sick 'em, Spot."

Given Spider-man's reputation, there wasn't an insect alive that could keep up with him when he swung away on his webbings. The only thing to do was to have a few ants attach themselves to Spider-man and hope that even if he had real spider-powers, he would not detect "food."

The droplet-sized investigator followed his faithful insects' "call." An hour after darkness had settled, Hank's homing devise lead him to a far away hotel suite. To Hank's surprise, Spider-man was more boy than man.

The next day, with the help of Erica's pals in the government, the hotel surrendered the names of the two occupants of the suite. Henry confided in his sister that back in New York, he had seen the middle-aged, stomach-sagging J. Jonah Jameson. The guy would never have looked that intimidating in tights. It was understandable that siblings' ears perked up at the name "Peter Parker".

Hank left the bathroom to return to his bedside. He looked at his phone and thought he might as well listen to the messages on Ant-man line. The voice of the first message was unmistakably Steve Rogers.

What did the bastard want? Was he going to tell Hank, 'Sorry bub, but the best man won?'

* * *

Turning the morning time back, in Neshoba County, Mississippi Sam Paige had turned around to allow his sister to continue her physical transformation from stone back to flesh. As she shook pebbles from her underwear, in Queens County New York Delfina was questioning where the plan of Brygitka and Yolanda was going. While she was expressing her concerns, in the southern part of Kings County— otherwise known as Brooklyn, New York—a Lincoln Continental was steering out of the Cross Bay Parkway and into the exit that led to Floyd Bennett Field.

The trip there didn't exactly make Elihas feel like he was a welcome passenger. The two large-built thugs who brought Elihas to the destination where laughing about a crime witness who had suddenly gone on a vacation that was so good, he had never returned. Elihas couldn't see the humor in that, but he determined to laugh at the next story.

The nerdy genius thought that he was following the second story well. When it veered into a similar path as the first story, Elihas laughed at the word "gone." He had thought that his chuckle would have made him look like he could potentially be one of the boys.

Alas, the driver looked at him, via the rear view mirror, with daggers. Balboni, sitting next to him in the back seat, gave him a disgusted glaze.

"Hey, humpty-stupid", Balboni said. "Freddy wuz one a owa bes' men. I don't see anythin' funny 'bout dat. He wuz worth a million of yous."

Due to that exchange, Elihas kept to himself during the long morning rush hour trip. Now, as the car moved through the last gate to access the area, Elihas looked out into Floyd Bennett Field.

The Egghead was familiar with the history of the vast field. At one time it was the city's first commercial municipal airport, then US Naval Air Port, now part recreational park, part protected historic site, part air base, part storage rental facility wherein the landlord was the NYC Parks Department.

The area was the starting site of many air races. It hosted the start and finish of Howard Hughes' record flight around the world. Some of the many aviation record-breakers who used the field included Wiley Post, Laura Ingalls, Amilia Earhart, Major John Glenn, Jr.

The most famous take-off from the site belonged to Douglas Corrigan. After being repeatedly denied permission to cross the Atlantic Ocean, he set course for California and "mistakenly" landed in Ireland. Thus, the moniker "Wrong Way" Corrigan entered aviation legend.

Sitting in the black vehicle, Elihas was determined to not only etch his own name into the Floyd Bennett Field's lore, but also eclipse all the previous celebrities. The Egghead was going to be the brains behind the take-down of both Giant-man and Spider-man.

Elihas marveled at Blackie Gaxton's nerve. He also was wrecked with his own nerves. The area was the base of the New York City Police Helicopter Division and of the New York Air National Guard. Blackie was going to have the Egghead construct a criminal production within of the jaws of the beast, so-to-speak.

The shiny Continental followed the stretch that was once a take-off strip and turned to the left. The vehicle moved towards the front of a large former aircraft hangar. It badly needed a paintjob, but the "people" double door entrance looked newly installed upon the giant sliding airplane door. The car slowed down yards in front of the entrance.

A white van with lettering on its side that announced that it made deliveries for a certain delicatessen pulled away, leaving Balboni to salivate: "Looks like we gots breakfast waitin' fer us."

That sounded great to the Egghead. The car eased into the spot that the van left vacant. Elihas dismounted when the car stopped between two grey passenger vans. The driver stated that the grey vans brought in helpers for his project. The odd-shaped man only paid passing attention. He only had food on his mind and he hurried behind Balboni. The dark-haired brute reached for the handle on the door that was carved into the larger hangar door.

Balboni pulled the door out and the quick-stepping and distracted evil genius behind him hit the doorframe head-on. He fell backwards and Balboni laughed. The driver was walking up behind them and Balboni pointed to the floored man whose stomach looked like a hill. The driver didn't look as entertained as his pal. He kicked Elias' foot. When there was no response, the two gasped in stereo:

"OHHH, SH-T!"

* * *

Fast forwarding to the present, Hank was greatly ashamed of himself. He had listened to the five messages that Steve Rodgers had left him with the intent to find something incriminating in his words and then use it as ammunition against him and Jan. It wasn't the vision of sugar-plums that was dancing in his head. It was the imagery of using Jan and Steve as footballs kicked into the up-right.

But Steve's messages were forthright, humble and sympathetic. He firstly denied any intent on his part to hurt a fellow teammate. Secondly, he offered up a defense for Jan's action and a reason why Giant-man should continue his relationship with the Wasp.

Steve's plea on her behalf was based on the high tension environment. The stress of seeing so much carnage and barbarism was so overwhelming that her mind temporary took shelter in a cerebral sphere that could help her avoid a melt-down. Steve had seen it many times in World War Two. Some soldiers went into a defensive "zombie" mode where they were taken out of their present reality. Some broke into abandoned liquor stores after a battle and nearly drank themselves to death.

Cap said that Jan wasn't "Jan" it that time. Her common sense was overridden by the primitive instincts of self-preservation within the mind. It was not an actual conscious reaching out for a romance partner, nor was it a deliberate effort to satisfy a desire. It was something inside of her that took over—something that needed to grab something temporarily to keep it together.

He and the Wasp were never an item and they never would be. If she wasn't all for Giant-Man, why had she stuck around for those years?

If he believed Steve's assessment or not, Hank still had to shake his head in admiration— what a guy this Steve Rogers was. He proved to be a man of such a high standard of integrity and class. It was a plateau that Hank hoped that he could one day approach.

Hank got into his warm-up clothes, though it wasn't likely that he was in the condition to exercise. The heartbreak that he endured allowed him only spotty sleep periods. He was exhausted.

Dr. Pym shut his bedroom door behind him and considered taking the elevator down to the kitchen. Of the eight elevators in the Kurztberg Building two serviced Henry Pym's four-story penthouse. But they also were utilized by other occupants of the building. That meant that the duo lifts would only be available to Hank if the in-cabin sensors indicated that no other rider was in the elevator. On weekday mornings the wait for the elevators was long. That is why Hank took the stairs on the east side of his abode down to the kitchen.

On his way to the steps, he passed by Jan's bedroom door. Henry continued a normal pace that held no hint of the inner conflict that was brought upon him as her door reminded him about last night's event. Dr. Pym forced his mind to concentrate on a new life. It would be without Jan; without a superhero persona. His sister Erica had encouraged both.

It was also without the governmental and Stark Industries weaponry paychecks that left him open to public scrutiny by publicity hounds like Senator Byrd. It meant an end to everything related to Giant-Man, but also the beginning of commercial sponsorship for his inventions. It was just as financially advantageous as his other pursuits, but with less complications.

As he descended down the stairs, Henry was reminded of last summer. They had just moved into the penthouse and as he climbed up the stairs with small lab equipments in his arms. Jan snuck up behind him to tweak his butt. He later returned the favor. The visions of their playfulness saddened the biochemist.

He asked himself, for peace-of-mind, would it have been wiser to wait for the elevator? But there too he would've been haunted by his happier times with Jan. There was the childish thrill of "getting caught" that ran through the couple as they made-out before the doors opened to other riders.

And what could he expect at the breakfast nook? The whole place triggered memories that could bring Hank down. But, …. he wasn't moving out this time. _JAN WAS!_

Henry Pym again attempted to engaged his mind in other directions. The battle for his thoughts had robbed him of his usually cheery morning face. And that was noticed by the kitchen reception committee— Bridgitka, Delfina and young Yolanda.

The three hearts sank for his ordeal. It was ironic that after seeing their expressions, Henry asked them, "Why the long faces."

Hank sat down at the eating counter that divided the kitchen from the nook. He looked up from his ham and eggs, clearly anticipating an answer. Yolanda thought to lighten the atmosphere by asking him what experiments Hank was working on. But as she was about speak, the corner of her eye spotted movement. Brigidtka had forcefully freed her arm from Delfina's grip. Bridgidtka then slapped a folded newspaper on the side of his plate.

The offending picture was the image that he had wrestled with all night. The bold caption above the photo stated that Captain America and the Wasp were romantically connected.

The article below screamed, asking if Giant-Man was out of her life or was he merely a fool she strung along. There is no hint of conscience or outrage in the piece. It ended with what the idiot writer thought was funny: _There should be a long line of guys who would try for her now that the big guy seems to be missing or maybe just a clueless sap._

Henry put the paper down to the right of his plate. He closed his eyes, leaned back on his seat and wished that the world would go away.

* * *

"Garr? Comin' to da meetin'?"

Sam and Paige's dad stopped piling the grain sacks on the man's pick-up truck. He tilted the bill of his baseball cap high enough to allow the back of his thin hand to wipe the sweat off of his brow.

"Mel, ah don't know. Taday ah have ta stay at da hardware store 'til closin' time. By the time ah'll gets there, Ah reckon dat ever'body will be sayin' deir good nights."

The graying, potbellied man nodded. He gestured for Garrett Guthrie to continue loading up the heavy bags. "Yeah, well-in, no one will think any less of a man takin' care a his responsibility fo' his family. But le's remember da .. da bigger picture.

Fo' all owa goods, we need to be … to be watchful. We need to raise owa kids in a place where we keep da races pure."

After the last two sacks were loaded, the Garrett turned to Mel. The slender man agreed with the grain purchaser.

"Ah'll be dere nex' time, ya'll be certain a dat."

Mel tapped the worker's shoulder and added "Yer a good man, Garr."

Garrett's hand closed around the tip that the man left him. It was impolite to look at a gift in front of the giver.

"Yer a good man," he repeated louder from his truck's window. Mel drove off while his tires kicked dust towards the Guthrie male. Garrett looked at the tip that the driver left him and responded, "An' yer a f- - kin' cheapskate, Mel."

* * *

The petite woman with the large opinion ignored the pleadings of her sister, Delfina, and her pal, Yolanda. Brygitka insisted that Henry Pym do something about his public humiliation. But Hank's fourth and angriest reply of "I'll take care of it," finally quieted her.

The solemn male walked away from his half-eaten breakfast and headed for the solitude of his lab. He made it to the living room when Yolanda called out to him. He turned and saw Brigitka rushing to carry the Pym cordless phone towards him.

In 1964, households welcomed the new plastic-coated coiled telephone cord that stretched from the phone unit to accommodate one's activity during a call. Then they were hit with the push-button interface that replaced the decades-old (and still reliable) rotary number-dial. Folks were amazed at the technology. But no one who listened to Delphina and Brigitka boast of their employer's invention were ready to believe that Dr. Pym had perfected a cordless, cellular phone. And if the two sisters insisted that the whole mechanism was lighter in weight then the traditional phone's handset, they would've questioned the old women's sanity.

Dr. Pym's little marvel was one of the two reasons that Brigitka's girlish-glee was quiet apparent. But Henry suspected that there was something else to her smile as she handed him the phone. The woman was a cheering. It was the same expression that young Yolanda had as she scrambled out of the kitchen seconds behind the smaller woman.

Yolanda began, "Remember when I said that there was an earlier caller whom I asked to call later? Well, she's calling back now."

Yolanda had brought in another invention of Dr. Pym— a unit small enough to carry. She rested it on the coffee table signaling Hank to sit. The unit had two speakers (each the size of her palm) on either end. It had a metal cradle in the middle where the cell phone could be placed and the call could be heard over the speakers. Hank sat down on the recliner and after the phone was set up to broadcast over the powerful little speakers, all three women sat opposite him on the couch.

Yolanda shrugged coyly and smiled. "She said that she wanted to make this a conference call and include everyone."

_Oh, no,_ he thought.

"Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty," the caller said. As he feared, it was his sister, Erica.

"Sooo…, "she continued. "I wake up, get the newspaper and guess what was there, before my eyes."

Hank wasn't prepared for this, nor was he in the mood. He knew what was coming and he weaved around her on-coming jab like an experienced prize fighter.

"Yeah," Henry interrupted. "Officials may not have gotten it yet, but if you look at the picture of the would-be bomber outside of the Avengers Mansion and the gunman who faked a suicide attempt and nearly shot Spider-man, you'll see some facial similarities.

"Look at the lips and the nose. I encountered Darren Glover and this "Ted" guy who Spider-man subdued was really his older brother Jeff."

His sister seemed to have been distracted from her original intention. "Wow, your new and improved truth serum does its stuff, huh? It's something that could've been used a long time ago to find out some close-to-home secrets."

_Hmm,_ Hank thought. She was leading into what he expected her to use to beat him over his head.

"Not only for me," Hank counter to keep her off balance. "But also for that FBI fellow, I hitched a ride on. She seemed nice, but a little slow."

"She?" Erica asked.

Damn it-that was an unpardonable slip-up. He knew that his sister was going to bring up Jan. Trying to steer the conversation away from his former love-interest, Jan was also on his mind. That was why his distracted thoughts pushed out the word "she" in reference to the male agent.

"Did I say that? Sorry— _he. _ ... At any rate, extracting that much info from the first terrorist should earn him a good raise.

Hank continued, "But I have some mixed feelings, here. Yes, I was the target in both cases because of the press conference where I blasted the Sons of the Serpent. And I'm glad that they are behind bars. I'm also happy that Darren said that they weren't connected with those serpent crack pots. I couldn't imagine the nightmare if they were so organized as to send a hit team up north. No one close to me would be safe.

"On the other hand, the brothers were sympathizing copy cats. If that comes out in the press, they may encourage more mindless imitators to get into the act and get for their demented selves the attention of the nation's eyes."

Erica lamented, "Yeah, and you know how socially responsible the media is. If they had a choice to hold down a story that could hurt innocent people or be the first to get it out …"

"That's why I'm more determined than ever to cripple the Sons of the Serpent."

"_Whoa, way, whoa! _ What do you mean YOU are going to cripple … Nee, how many ti-. Don't you stick your nose into this. The FBI is handling it."

"And they're doing _soooo_ well. No doubt you're already planning to set a road block for me because the Feds have a handle on things, correct?"

An argument ensued, and Yolanda waved open hands in front of Hank. Her intent wasn't clear. Was she solely trying to ease the tension between the siblings? Or was she expecting to redirect the conversation to go in the original direction that she and Erica planned?

"Well, isn't it true," Yolanda began, "that you aren't in the situation that could allow you to do anything like that right now?"

Henry replied, "Well, maybe I need four or five days of preparation."

"Good," Erica said, suddenly calmed. "I have a few days to smack that nonsense out of you. But the reason I called'—Henry groaned—"and no diversions from you— is that picture where Captain America was having his lips sucked off his face by that tramp you always defend."

The three women synchronized their move to edge of their seats.

"Erica, please."

"Please what? Shall we go over Miss Drop-My-Panties history?"

Brigitka yelled, _**"Yes! Yes!"**_

Brigitka was still nodding unashamedly as three pairs of eyes looked at her in astonishment.

Brigikta asked, "Why are you looking at me? …. Let's get to it. Erica, who starts, you or me?"

* * *

Conundrum. Sam Guthrie knew what the word meant even if he wasn't sure how it was spelled. He had heard the story about the Tennessee squirrel that had cheeks and handfuls of nuts. He had too much to successfully make the climb up the tree and store them in his home just before the first frost. Now, should he put half of them down and go up to store the rest? Even if he knew that there were other squirrels looking at him from behind bushes? And if he did, should he even bother to return for the other half?

That was somewhat the same uneasiness and hesitancy that the two boys experience as they saw their three-year-old sisters play with each other. Heck, just being in each other's company alone was cause for discomfort and apprehension.

The Negro 9-year-old looked on as little Samantha happily playing with the rusty-haired white girl just as if they belonged together. He launched sneaky side-eye peeks at the white brother who was close to him. But it was best not to acknowledge his presence.

_**It was stupid, of course—like hearin' da buzzin' of bees an' not haulin' one's butt outta da place in a flash. Still, he WAS one a dose pale things dat thought demselves so much better dan him. **_

_**Well, really, da boy wasn't like one a those Sons of the Serpent demons… he didn't come afta Samantha an' him with a weapon or nothin'. He was civil-like.**_

_**But white is white, y'know? What could a normal person possible say to dis white boy? Even if he wasn't fussing, his kind neva shared nothin' in common with Colored folks. Den again, dere in front of him were Samantha an' da white girl, laughin' and playin'.**_

Being a couple a months shy of his 10th birthday, Samuel Jonas Guthrie faintly smiled. His doll-clutching sister and the Negro girl applied their dancing talents to a perceived waltz as if there was no difference between them. Sam tried to keep his eyes on Paige, but he couldn't help but slip his peepers to the side, towards the Negro brother when he made the slightest movement or sound.

_**Maybe it was da bes' thing ta avoid eye-contact. Dat's what folks said ta do when one acciden'ly passes in front of a bear who was eatin'. Still, dis boy didn't act wild. He was well behaved, really. **_

Sam gave a long exhale. _**Dere was no sense in makin' his acquaintance, even though Momma woulda said dat it was da polite thing ta do. What would dey say ta each other? Coloreds and Whites had nothin' in common , 'cep-in sufferin' through da summer weather? It was like a beaver an' a possum crossin' paths. Sure dey were four-legged an' furry, but one went his way towards da river and da other went towards da tree. Dat's one reason dat Negros neva got too close. But den, look at Paige an' that Samantha girl. Dey dizzied demselves an' dey stopped ta sit on da same rock. Da girls were lockin' one arm to the other girl.**_

Sam looked towards the river on the other side of the dark-skined boy. The other boy kept his face towards the girls, but his eyes were on full alert duty on the white boy.

The boy asked himself, _**Was da white boy expectin' company? Was he lookin' fo' more Negro child'en? And in either case, wha' was he plannin' to do?**_

Sam felt the other boy's tension—it was a nonphysical thing that males could sense, but couldn't explain.

_**Why was he all tense? Well, da girls were havin' fun, so Ah'm not gonna start anything if da Negro kid didn't. **_

In truth Sam's steady gaze was being guided by his curiosity; the river that was behind the bushes to his right; the lake that was situated behind him, some distance away.

Sam pondered, _**Both were da Good Lord's creation fo' white people's entertainment, right? **_

Well in Sunday School, he had heard that when bad folks partook of something God gave good folks, judgment followed.

_**It wasn't pretty dat time dat da Philistine took da Ark of da Covenant away from Israel durin' da time of Samuel, da prophet.**_

_**Dose Negro kids— DIS Negro kid standin' beside him. Dey all look just fine an' healthy. Maybe Poppa was wrong. God's gifts were fo' Whites and Colored. **_

Suddenly, at the mention of his father, those bad feelings began to well up again. What came into remembrance was that man's thoughts on Sam and Paige.

_**If that drunk was wrong about his own kin, den he surely had to be wrong about this too**_, Sam reckoned.

Suddenly the girls fell off of their rock seat and landed on the ground in a heap. Both brothers rushed forward thinking to separate them and finally get them to their own kind. But the girls were not hurt. Even the more, they may have purposely fallen because they were giggling and hugging each other.

Sam stopped. The colored boy stopped two paces in front of Sam.

_**OHHH NO,**_ the Guthrie Man of the House said to himself. This Negro boy wasn't getting closer to his sister than he was. Sam made up the difference. But his defensiveness melted away as he saw a big smile on the boy's face. Sam smiled also. Suddenly the four male eyes made contact and the boys turned away from each other.

"Uh," said the first boy.

Uh,.. yeah." replied Sam.

* * *

Reference:

The Spider-man vs. the Lizard fight happened in Spider-man # 6 (1963)


	16. Chapter 16: Let's Have A Talk

Chapter 16: Let's Have A Talk.

In the Neshoba County, Mississippi, just outside of the city of Philadelphia, Marvis Feed Store had some good acreage behind the establishment. There, a mill produced and bagged the store's own animal nutrition.

In the driver's seat of a forklift, Garrett Guthrie's hands began to shake. He knew that the inner cramped-in feeling was sure to follow. He couldn't stop what he was doing just then. The bags of grain on the wooden pallet had to be placed by the chain-linked fence— to the left of the store— for passers-by to see and be enticed.

He rubbed his hands as if that would stop the trembling— it never had before. The redness on the back of his hands was welcome. The sun's baking on his outwards hid the small red dots that indicated a punishment to his inwards. Red dots— such as tiny spots of busted veins areas that come from unnatural rushes of blood speed. They were evidence of long term hard drinking.

His dancing right hand returned to the steering wheel of the forklift and his trembling left eased back on the lever. The palette went up and the engine rumbled. In seconds, the forklift deposited the feed where it belonged. Garrett seriously doubted that he could make the next two trips without the shakes getting worst.

Halfway back to the mill's door, he shut off the work vehicle and jumped off. He ran into the back of the store, to the employees' lockers. From his metal storage, he took out the "medicine" that would solve his problem. Two long swigs should do the trick. Well, that and a ten minute sit-down. But he would have to wait on that last thing. He hopped onto the forklift, took a deep breath and then continued his chores.

From the small "pet section" window, Amy Mavis saw his sprint back and forth. Everyone here knew who the "alchies" were— people like that couldn't hide their habits forever.

_It was a shame_, she thought. He was a good worker; almost 28. Garrett had a good wife, Lucinda, and two darling children: Sam and Paige. She wouldn't comment on his dependency. It wasn't her business, really, except that he should show better love towards his little family.

Besides, another man— her husband Ben— should be the one to talk to Garrett about the shortening of his life. She turned to the burly man reading the paper behind the cash register. White hair was encroaching on his short red beard. Ben was a good, but uninvolved, man who fit her own lifestyle; but there were times when he had to exert himself.

She walked over to her husband in this slow portion of the day.

"Ben, how about now?"

He looked into her eyes. "Okay, okay," he begrudgingly responded without another word from her. Amy had been on him for days about it, _sooo _… Ben gave it whirl.

Ben put the paper down and moseyed out the back door. Amy hoped that this time Ben would actually say what needs to be said instead of allowing Garrett to change the subject.

To the bulky man's relief, a customer had pulled up, parked his car and made a bee-line towards Garrett. Ben shrugged and turned around. There was always next time.

If Ben had stayed the course, he would have been there when s the new man giving a congratulatory slap on Garrett's arm.

The man cheered, "Well, Ah needs ta say, we taught dem darkies an' a couple a ni - - er lovers what for."

Erica asked over the phone, "Where is she, by the way? You know, the one who uses you for a doormat."

"Where do you think she is after a night of -" Brygetka's mouth was immediately covered by the hands of the two women at her sides.

Yolanda said, "She is still sleeping, to the best of my knowledge."

Erica replied, "She wasn't drinking, was she? The poor reserved little thing."

"She wasn't," Henry blared out. "I think we can lose your unfavorable opinions, Erica."

"Mine? Even the press called her a _socialite _before she moved in and contaminated you."

"Socialite?" Yolanda asked. "Is that bad?"

"Here's the translation sweetie," the voice on the phone began. "Dr. Van Dyne's daughter was not comfortable with the entry point where her family connection put her in High Society. The broad will do what she needs to do to get higher up the ladder of prestige. She will – shall I say— _entertain _certain men who can help her launch her fashion design business.

"That was where my dim-wit brother found her. I tried to tell him that she would never change, because her chosen path in life was too entrenched for anyone to cause a lasting detour. But, oh no— my brother said that people can change. Hey— _very, very few can_, Nee."

"We need to discuss this privately," Henry interjected.

From her Arlington, Virginian home Erica replied, "We need to discuss it with everyone present. You know you owe it to them, Nee. We're talking about a potential powder keg that could bury everyone."

"What does she mean, Henry?" Yolanda asked fearing that this all involved more than just a woman of loose morals. Erica's brother looked at the women and found the two older females nodding in agreement with Erica's assessment.

Big sis answered Yolanda. "I mean that there's nothing innocent about flirting. Doing it constantly means that you want something bad enough that you'd even trample on the emotions of someone who cares deeply for you. Or at best, you advertise that your moral boundaries are as strong as a punctured tissue paper. Reactively, you cannot keep some ludicrous act outside your behavioral borders. Proactively, something ugly inside of you can also get outside and pull something even uglier in."

Hank began softly, full of repentance. "When Jan moved in, it took a short while to discover that she had a … well, an addiction to things; … mainly thrills and attention."

"Damn it, Nee stop with all the vagueness. We're adults here. Tell Yolanda the first time she was drunk and brought home a rich pig for her roasting."

"Erica! Stop!" Hank said. " … Yolanda,… you know Jan has this dream about starting her company and rubbing elbows with elites. Well, I don't like to go to parties and to that effect I should take the —"

"God help me," Erica screamed. "Every time you take the blame for even a bit of her whore-behavior, I feel like reaching into the phone and boxing your ears in."

She continued, "For the millionth time, you are responsible for your actions and your actions alone. If she had any morals, letting her go to parties alone wouldn't result in the way they had."

"Let me finish," Hank said indignantly. Then he turned his attention to those who were present. "Yes, Erica is right; it's an old habit that I need to stop. At any rate, he was a CEO of an advertising firm, and up in years. Maybe that was why I was able to catch them before they did anything. He was as drunk as she was, but his age made him undress slowly."

"Could you beat that?" Erica interjected. "The tramp brings Mr. Moneybags into the home that my dumb brother had opened to her. He brings her in and the whore thanked Hank for loving her by trying to _pork_ a rich old bastard."

"Stop. I mean it." Henry covered his face with his hands. Yolanda wanted to hold him. Thankfully, before she did something that stupid, Henry glided his hands up and over his short hair. He leaned back and returned to the narrative in a calm tone.

"Jan promised that she would stop drinking."—Henry ignored the scornful laugh at the other end of the phone—"She kept her word and things went smoothly. Months later, another party took place with the same influential people. I went with her, but I had to leave by midnight. She asked to stay behind because she was close to making some sort of connection."

"And she sure did." Erica interrupted.

"I was in my lab in the old Manhattan location, working on a solution that could reduce fatalities in combat. I was almost possessed by the project. It was a solvent that could clog weapons and dissolve a soldier's clothing without harming—"

"Hank," Erica steamed. "They aren't interested in that. Get to the point. Here is where you let other assume your motive was to escape high rents. What's the real reason that you had to leave that penthouse in Manhattan?"

He shook his head sadly. "Jan had become better at sneaking her potential benefactor into the home. Working hours behind the microscope was giving me sore eyes. I decided to break for a 3 AM snack. On my way to the kitchen, I heard muffled laughter coming from her room.

I had, at that time, a habit of carrying around an all-purpose key to the doors and… They were both naked and flushed as if …

Hank' had tailing off, and that angered Erica once again.

She responded, "As if she was happily going for the second session where he'd drive his dipstick into her stank-engine. Only this time she rolled herself on top of him just as you entered. Is that right, Hank?"

"Details are so important aren't they," Hank sarcastically replied to his sister, the former CIA operative.

Erica said, "Everyone— well actually Yolanda— needs to discover the tramp's true nature. Everyone needs to know that you can give a person so many chances and if you aren't an idiot, you discover that the person will not change. And none of five adults in on this conversation should continue to fool … _HIMMMM_self."

Hank continued. "I pushed Jan off of him and brought him up from the bed with my hands around his neck. That was when I discovered that he was just … maybe eighteen?"

"How convenient. We wouldn't want to venture a guess that he was younger. That would be statutory rape, huh?"

"Erica, I'm talking. okay? … I looked at his scared young face and I saw that he wasn't the problem."

"Oh, Hallelujah!" Erica shouted in ridicule. Yolanda admired Hank for staying in control. Being an experienced debater herself and facing down stiff assaults in college, she knew that emotional outbreaks undermined the most positive presentation. She also felt something else; as much as Yolanda was on Erica's side, the brilliant young woman began to resent her disrespect towards her younger brother. Still, she said nothing because Erica was family to the wonderful man.

Henry said, "I stopped myself from beating him within an inch of his life. I forcibly put his pants on him and I shoved his shirt and tuxedo into chest and dragged him out.

"Details, little brother. The young snot-nose was the son of J. L. Morrison, the international banking tycoon. She still wanted to get to her business going even if it meant using the stupid kid and crushing you. Oh, and don't forget, as you were dragging the shirtless little jackass out, your prim-and-proper Janet Van Dyne was pulling you back by the arm.

"What was it that the drunken tramp was saying to you at the time? I think it went: _Don't get angry and don't throw_ _him out. There was also enough pu - -y for you after she finished him_.

"Sorry I was so crude. Just wanted to illustrate that she gets extra vulgar when she's soused, as two of our audience knows."

Henry continued, unruffled. "He wasn't the problem, but as I got him to the elevator, he said something that definitely _was_. In the middle of his panicky apologies, he blurted out that he didn't want to be squashed under foot by Giant-Man.

I asked him, _what was this nonsense that he was speaking?_ He answered that after Jan revealed her identity by shrinking, he rejected her offer to fly up his …. "

Unlike his sister, Henry's modesty prevented him from finishing the comment.

"Anyway, his words stopped me from _throwing_ him out. Actually, her suggestion to him almost made me _throw _up."

Hank took a deep breath and resisted telling the four women that Hank came so close to slapping Jan, and _hard._ The urge was particularly strong when she took his right forearm and tried to pull him away from the youth. Hank then used the same forearm to push her against the wall. He raised the forearm up to her neck securing her against the wall, without actually choking her.

The wild, beastly look on Hank's face was enough to scare Jan. She shrunk and flew away, leaving her lover to fend for himself. Self-preservation trumped her desire for another sex session.

He continued, "You heard Erica mention a new truth serum that I perfected. It makes the mind overly receptive to suggestions. I got the youngster into the lab and used it to erase his memory about the tryst, about Jan's exposure, even about our address.

"The kid was fully dressed when I walked him out. He had a vacant expression as he hailed a cab home.

"Still, I couldn't take a chance. If his memory returned, even if it was foggy, no one could guarantee that the wrong person wouldn't be listening to him. Jan, Delfina, Bridgitka, even the neighbors in the building would be in danger.

We moved out without a forwarding address. Using the same serum, our former neighbors and landlord now remember me as an old, feeble man.

"After that, everything gave me the impression that Jan had improved."

"Yeah," Erica countered. "Now she doesn't need alcohol to act like a tramp. Just ask Captain America."

"Okay, as I said to everyone in the kitchen, I'm going to handle this. I won't let her whoredom— I'm sorry— her crassness … her crassness endanger anyone. As for you dear sister, we've accomplished enough character defecation for the day. Jan isn't here to defend herself and—"

"Defend herself against what? She's going to say that none of it happened?"

He retorted angrily, "Good-bye. Let's talk again when we have better subjects to discuss." Hank stood up, disgusted that he contributed to the denouncement.

"For my part, I could have stressed that I planned to defuse the danger without bringing out so much humiliating details." Apologizing for his poor discernment, Henry reached down for the cell phone that was cradled between the speakers. He pressed the button to end the call and he marched out of the living room.

Brygitka followed him out. She stood up and smiled. "That went satisfactory."

Her sister stood up behind her and could only manage a disapproving shake of her head in Brygitka's direction.

Yolanda turned her attention away from the sisters and towards the door through which Hank had disappeared.

Her esteem for the man increased. She always felt that he was wonderful, but after seeing how he hated to denigrate the one who caused him so much pain, it seemed like she was just now truly discovering the benevolent nature of the man.

Once inside the safety of Lab A, the corner of his eyes spotted the blinking light on his Ant-Man phone line. It was probably Cap again. Hank was going to phone him and thank him for his considerations and support. Meanwhile, he might as well hear this last message, also.

But the recorded message revealed someone else. It was Danny Cohen—a long forgotten informant whom Erica lent to Hank during his spy-smashing years.

If his faith was still whole, Hank would have thanked God for his soon-to-be career change. In truth, Hank's corporate venture would allow him to distance himself from a few regrets. One of those was Cohen. Danny gave law-enforcement info, they would give him money. He's use it on drugs, the Feds turned the other way.

The FBI and the local police needed a snitch inside of the slimy world of crime. Only a fellow slime could fit into that inner circle. No one tried to wean him off his addiction— it preserved his fervor. Being hungry brought out Danny's reliability and the animal drive to succeed in gathering information.

Hank flowed away from counter intelligence and into the typical Superhero-versus-bad-guy crusade because of the government's use of people like Cohen. Yes, saving thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of innocent lives made it easier to aid the _Danny Cohens_ of the world to flush their own lives down the toilet. But for Henry Pym, many times it came down to those self-incriminating minutes just before he closed his eyes to sleep at night.

The "minutes" usually became an hour – and that was only because of sleeping pills. Lately, he didn't need the pills because he hadn't been involved with any self-destructive informants. Yet right that very second, that luxury disappeared.

On the recording, Cohen sounded nervous and that meant one thing. There was big time trouble up ahead. Why he called the Ant-man instead of the Feds would have to be investigated later. Hank replayed the message to memorize the phone number that Cohen had left.

It was 11 AM at Hillcrest Heights, some miles outside of Washington D.C. The series of houses varied from ranch to two-story. The relatively new housing development prided itself on the young , slender trees standing guard over clean, curving streets. It was a community for the family; a community of quite safety. But there was one abode that housed nothing resembling kinship, tranquility or security. These contradictions were walking along side with one hidden irony. The Sons of the Serpent had claimed that they were led by the death-defying General Lee. It wasn't his name that was on the pre-paid mortgages of six side-by-side homes, but it was his money that purchased the properties on Lee Lane.

In the basement of one of those two-story structures stood a thin man whose facial wrinkles added a decade to his actual age. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and then finished his project by closing the small compartment door over the heavy duty 9 volt lantern battery.

After 18 straight hours of work, the only thing keeping Gregor Shapanka on his feet was his adrenalin. The man with graying temples lifted up the fruit of his long labor from the work table.

It was just inches longer than the distance from his fingertips to his elbow, and it was ready— the freezing gun. Measuring only two thirds the weight of the original design, the extra ease in turning it against multiple targets was assured.

Gregor turned around from the work table with the weapon in his hand. He reached for the newspaper on a near-by rustic bench. The scientist then threw the newspaper in the air. Shapanka aimed his gun. While the chaotically fanned paper was in the air, his long, slim finger pulled the trigger— **_Fffft_**_! _

One particular section of the newspaper fell faster than the others. It hit the floor with a crack. He reached down in an attempt to pick up the potion that appeared frosty, but readable. Obviously, the non- clarity meant that he also hit some dust particles. But that was of little consequence.

Hmm, there's a small article about a home exploding in Long Island. Did it read Freeport? In mild curiosity, he slipped his finger under it. The newspaper cracked into smaller pieces.

_Small sacrifice_, he said to himself. At least now he can show his financier, General Lee, that his faith in Shapanka was justified. Realizing that he again could look forward to his reign of terror as _Jack Frost, _a victorious laugh escaped his mouth. Now, wouldn't his arrogant fellow house guest swallow hard at this same realization?

Speaking of the devil, Shapanka heard the running water surging through the basement pipes. A toilet flush meant that the braggart Abner Jenkins was awake. Let's see how dismissively he talks to Gregor now. Jack Frost had nothing to fear from The Beetle.

Dmitri Smerdyakov had lost contact with his revolutionary comrades who were sent to the U.S.A.. But if he didn't have accomplices to pursue espionage activities, that didn't stop him from moving on. Taking the guise of Professor Carlton Olbermann he began an impromptu meeting at a coffee shop just two blocks from Manhattan's New York University. Youths always had the mindset that they were smarter than the generation that raised them. Youths without jobs lend themselves to a rebellion that was deeper than their early teen resentments.

Dmitri's newly acquired Oxford accent was flawless. His round rim glasses and subtle wrinkles on his forehead relayed the image of a seasoned teacher in higher academia. The students who gladly heard him never bothered to ask where he had taught. It was sufficient that he spoke as one of them, but with more eloquence.

He said what they wanted to hear. Professor Olbermann explained that they were in the invisible prison camp of a repressive capitalist system. And they were the chosen, the higher intellects above the masses, who were called to eventually throw down the government; to overthrow the impossible-to-crack ruling class.

Soon the small get-togethers grew in number. But it was shaky at the start. About 18 months ago the core six students included two members who asked questions that were more challenging than inquisitive. One Negro student, Oscar Gambling, was quickly put in line not by directly addressing his questions, but by denigrating him. Without using the word "stupid" he was made to feel out-of-touch. Without calling him an "Uncle Tom" he was backed into a portrayal of favoring racial oppression, so long as he received his education.

This was the best and quickest method to smooth out the road in front of a revolutionary. Attack the person's integrity and his question became lost in the defenses and continued attacks that followed.

"Bourgeois," "Judas," "Opportunists," "Mind-enslavers," "Racists" all useful words for question-deflecting. They took a more sinister feel to them when the audience was rived up after hearing about the injustices of the capitalist pigs who downtrodden the unthinking masses.

It worked on Oscar, but one girl whose face seemed too young to be a University student, did not bend. Alice Potts took Oscar's claim that Negro car salesmen, land brokers, and insurance sales men became wealthy as they advertised in the stadium and program guides associated with the Negro Baseball League and she ran with it. She produced articles and copies of worn pictures. It was as if she was an professional archivist.

She became quite a troublesome stain of manure as she deflected charges that she must have been pro-segregation. In addition, she masterfully returned to the main counter-argument against the claim that no one but those thieves born into power can have power in America. Even when the other students ganged up on her, she was resilient, saying that she was worked over by the best. These students were armatures to her.

The students had to shout her down, because she was countering their assaults by pointing out the hypocrisy of the person assailing her. In a turn-around of the tactics of the racial, the girl asked things that brought humiliation to her attackers.

When was the last time that these _anti-racists_had lunch with a Negro?

When did those who claim that there were no meaningful jobs available for "outsiders of the system" last look through the Want Ads?

How could they seriously say that they were fully aware of social-economic ramifications if they spent a considerable amount of time smoking marijuana? It left the majority of users in a state of paranoia and 100% of everyone who Alice knew in a mental fog.

Dmitri was quiet in his admiration for the young, light-blue eyed demon's professional debating tactics.

Yes, drowning out her voice was the only way to win the day, but soon the objectors became hoarse and the small Rock of GIbralta was beginning to get some of her words in. She even exposed the maneuvers of the radicals by stating that no answers came forth from her questions, only character assassinations to quiet her down… and of course, it did the opposite. She became a lioness.

If she had not suddenly transferred out to another school, Dmitri feared that his influence would've soon been weakened. Then Dmitri would have had to do something about little Alice Potts.

But she was gone now. Dmitri, or rather Professor Olbermann, had control again and the numbers of the ears of the disgruntled, and the questioners of tradition increased.

This morning their beloved professor had, himself, left the bourgeois, elitist Plaza Hotel suite that overlooked the Central Park— the epitome of how the greedy capitalist pigs exploited the sweat of the proletariat. It was going to be a busy morning. He had pick up a package at a near-by Greenwich Village post office and then return to the suite. But he had to address his followers. It was a twice-a-week ritual to make sure that they knew that he remained one with their struggle.

He entered the café this morning. More than three-quarters of the eyes within the establishment met his charismatic smile.

They applauded; Dmitri cleverly put one _humbled_ hand onto his chest and with the other, he waved in downward strokes to calm their acclaim.

Their favorite professor explained that he had not much time, but he, in turn, had to applaud their courage and clearness of mind to stand against the repressive system that was the very definition of the United States. They were encouraged to continue in this struggle, but he had to add one more awareness to their superior, expanding minds.

"As you know, the whole system seeks to choke the life out of the working class. It seeks to keep us under the boot of the ruling class tyrants."

A series of "boos" had to be silenced by the professor.

"And those who defend it are equally as dangerous. The police, the FBI"—again he had to subdue the cat-calls and derision from his followers— "Yes, they are workers… workers who have been brainwashed by the very institutions that would put their boots on our necks, brothers and sisters.

"They are today's House Slaves. You know what I mean. During slavery, the plantation owner was ruthless, heartless. The House Slave, the one whom the slaves thought was one of their own…. _Ohhh_, but he was in many cases, far more dangerous than the master.

He had to secure his position of ease, by preventing anyone else from attaining that position. He betrayed his own, giving the master the information about his people's every attempt to escape. Once he was exposed and unable to mingle with the other Negros, he was given power to put his own… _HIS OWN_ … under the whip."

The crowd murmured in disgust.

"These House Slaves are here among us. The so-called law enforcement who protect the law of the master over the underclass. I give you the police, the FBI. .. the much ballyhooed _superheroes." _The last classification left his mouth with derision.

"The Fantastic Four, the Avengers, that other detestable House Slave, _Spider-man_. They capture smalltime crooks who stole from the **_reeeeal _**crocks—the institutions, the bankers, the ruling class.

"When Doctor Octavius saw through the façade, when he saw that the Halves had long conspired to keep the rest of us struggling as Have-Nots, he broke away from the mind-enslavement and faced up to the oppressors."

A cheer erupted.

"And where did it get him? Brother and sisters, he's been marked by the Zionist Imperialist Propagandizing Media as an outlaw. Even now, after being attacked by that House Slave, Spider-man, our brave comrade rots away as a political prisoner as an example of how a free-thinking plantation worker will be dealt with.

"Brothers, sisters, a time will come when it will be your turn to drive this corrupt nation into an egalitarian utopia. It will one day be you who snatch the press from the lying Imperialist Industrial-Media-Zionist-complex and bring us truth."

Another cheer rang out.

"Until then, spread the word. The hands of the oppressive capitalist slave owners that would strangle our throats, … our future… these hands are Spider-man and the others fascist supporters in their cleanly pressed, ridiculous Halloween costumes."

The crowd laughed scornfully.

"Remember we are the future. Remember the chant that was thought to be forgotten decades ago, "We are The Progressives."

He smiled broadly as they chanted his last line over and over with burning fervor.

He bide them good-bye with hand gestures and they repeated loader, _"WE ARE_ _THE PROGRESSIVES!"_

Dmitri hurried out, denying some hangers-on their request to aid him in whatever he was planning to do. He had to be alone when he picked up his package and returned to the elegant hotel suite. Of course, he'd have to change his appearance to match the ID card that corresponded to the recipient. The package was addressed to Sam Alinsky. And Sam looked very different from Carlton Olbermann. That presented no problem for the Chameleon.

On his expansive Estate's firing range, one "capitalist pig", Norman Osborn, was showing incredible accuracy. His rifle shot many times into the poster board figure, but one could only see one hole. It was located between the eyes of the figure painted on the board. Instead of the traditional black silhouette drawing of a man, Osborn had a red and blue figure with large white eyes that slanted down as they neared the "nose." No one dared asked him why.

On the white luxurious outdoor table behind the shooter were the untouched tea, finger sandwiches, and vermouth that he declined from his servants. The mood that Master Osborn exhibited, especially the obscenities between shots, was enough to keep his butler and maid from getting close to him. They were not going to offer him any more drinks or food.

His mind had no time for anything other than his target. He was consumed with a burning hatred that was fueled by humiliation. That bastard, Spider-man—a nobody— made Norman's triumphant entry into a new endeavor look like a mockery.

He'll pay… dearly. He'll pay … slowly, agonizingly slow.

The servants jumped back as he howled in almost demon-like rage when the rifle emptied. He collected himself long enough to reload.

Arthur Shapiro was in a lighter mood as he turned off of the highway. With his worry subsiding, his stomach found room for a late breakfast. The dinner that he was presently sitting in was substandard. But in his state of relief, even the undercooked eggs were fine.

As he waited for his check, Arthur was wondering how he could better please Norman Osborn with the recruits.

Well, for one, he wasn't getting a positive response every time. Perhaps he could show his boss that he was proactive. He would not only go after the names that his brother –in-law provided, he'd also try to get meta-beings that had talents closer to what his employer had first looked for. The list that Arthur presently had to work with may have been only reluctantly assembled by Norman. So…..

Arthur looked at the first three candidates that he had convinced to come on board, three weeks ago. Well, they were committed until that horrible villain, who the press called the _Green Goblin_ stole them away.

The three went by the name, _the Enforcers_. Long and lean Jackson "Montana" Brice could make a lariat into a lethal weapon. Though small in stature, "Fancy Dan" Brito was a master in hand-to-hand combat and a great marksman with a pistol. The extremely tall Raymond Block had the thickness and strength to back up his street name, "The Ox".

Let's see. Montana provided the long range threat. The Radioactive Man, Dr. Chen Lu, could more than fill that spot. Fancy Dan provided the up-close-to-the victim attack as well as the long range with his pistol. The Cobra, the eerie Klaus Voorhees, was a far deadlier answer to fill that slot. The Ox was mainly a close range attacker. The other three names that Norman Osborn had gaven him to recruit didn't fill the bill.

Arthur thought that he would win over his boss in a big way if he found someone who could specifically replace the loss of the Ox's muscles.

After leaving the waitress a big tip, Arthur opened the dinner's glass door to leave. Suddenly his brain opened up as well. He got it… HE GOT IT!

The guy that Arthur thought about was the perfect substitute muscle; actually, he had more strength. And the new guy had something else that the Ox couldn't match. He had incredible speed that no one could match. And since his brother-in-law felt that shadowy figures on the wrong side of the law were the best intimidators against potential kidnapers (as oppose to squeaky clean men who would not step over moral boundaries to stop a threat), this guy was **_PERRRFECT!_**

Proud of his brilliance, Arthur ran to the payphone located by his parked car on the lot.

He was instantly connected to Norman's secretary who forwarded the call over a private line to the Osborn Estate. Kevin Mygatt, the butler, answered the phone by the patio furniture. Mygatt explained that Master Osborn was standing no more than fifty feet from him. He was reloading his rifle.

"He's in a frightfully angry mood," Mygatt warned.

"Well, get him to the phone. Tell him that I have a plan that will get him out of his rage and put a wide smile on his face."

It took a while before Osborn took the phone. As his butler relayed, his boss was half a step behind the threshold of a volcanic tirade. Osborn warned Arthur that whatever info he was about to share had better be worth his distraction from target practice.

"Oh, **_it isss_**, Norman, it most definitely is. I think I can direct my attention to getting you the perfect candidate to be your body guard. I'm going to get you the guy who would not only make you feel at ease, but also make your life a spinning-top pleasure.

"Norman, you'll love him, absolutely love him. I'm going to get you _Spider-man." _

Post Scripts:

**Danny Cohen** is an original character.

**Bourgeois **(Boor- zhwaa): In Marxist circles, this refers to scheming

wealth-producers who are very exclusive and ruthless.


	17. Chapter 17: Things Just Go Rolling Along

Chapter 17: Things Go Rolling Along

One winter, she had thrown herself on the sidewalk. Her face suffered minor scratches skimming against the rough, hard surface. Pressing her face against the ice-cold concrete gave her the feeling that her face would eventually crack from the prolonged contact. But it was either take the concrete or the bullets that were whizzing just over her head.

The following summer, she dove into a rice field… Third World countries use a particular fertilizer. In the oppressive heat, the right side of her face was in human waste deep enough to cover one eye (and it took days for her nose to be relieved of that scent). The other side of her face became a landing pad for biting flies. But it there was a bright side, the barrage of bullets that missed her left ear by less than an inch also provided a small breeze and sent many of the biting bastards to Bug-Hell.

All-in-all nothing seemed more hopeless and frustrating to Erica Yolanda Pym Collingsworth than her beloved, but DIM-WITTED baby brother. What in blazes was this suicide drive to take on the Sons of The Serpent? Last November's Kennedy assassination proved that a civilian-dressed gunman can strike from anywhere and at anytime. Though she didn't like his current heroic adventures, at least his enemy stood out with a stupid costume. Hank's target was always in front of him.

She had stopped him from interjecting himself into FBI business before and she was sure that she could do it again. But there was that _OTHER THING!_

Henry just couldn't see the light. He brought that tramp into his home and his heart because ….? _She looked like Maria?! __**AAARRRGH!**_

Looking out of the car window from her back seat, she decided that her mind was better occupied with her present plan; it was an option that if her unclenching stomach could talk it would have thanked her. Erica was on her way to visit her husband in Georgetown University Hospital, this morning. It was generous of the Pentagon to send a limo to her home. They knew that she wouldn't have been n a mood to deal with the crazy drivers around the Washington DC area this day.

As was her custom, she checked her pants suit after getting out of the car. Good— the dark blue suit didn't hold any creases that it wasn't supposed to have. Then the tall woman exhibited her athleticism as she scooted quickly between the limo door and the elevator door. She had only stopped at the hospital lobby's newsstand to pick up the morning paper.

Inside the elevator, the attractive, cream hair-colored woman was stuck in a sea of blabber that was punishing. Every dummy felt entitled to talk about how the Wasp was jerking the cuckold Giant-Man around. The painful trip to the twelfth floor was made worst by the extra length of time wasted when these idiots deciding to light up the floor selection buttons like a Christmas tree. The doors opened on almost every floor between the lobby and the floor where her Barry was resting. The stupidity got worst with every donut-head that came into the elevator with his/her take on the betrayal. The ensuing laughter at her brother's expense almost made her lose it, but Erica exercised the great restraint that once made her an elite CIA operative.

The doors finally opened to a wall with a big "12" painted on it. Erica rushed out so fast that one would have thought the passenger cabin had deprived her of air for the entire elevator trip.

If only there was a special soap that she could've use to wash away from her brain all the crap she had just heard. Two turns and a twenty seconds walk later she reached Barry's room. What a relief it was to see her broad-jawed hubby looking better … sitting up on the bed… alone… without the in-laws.

Her husband looked up and held back his laughter. Two hours earlier over the phone, Erica had apologized. She confessed that that her brother's stupidity was distracting her from their morning prayers together. Barry said that she might as well call Hank and get it out … again. Knowing his wife, he pitied his brother-in-law—but still the image of her blasting him was very funny.

Almost as funny as a question that he forbade himself to ask her. When Erica prayed, all those years back as a CIA firearm markswoman, did she actually ask God to make her aim sure so that she could blow someone's brains out? That didn't really fit into Barry's concept of prayer. Come to think of it, maybe it wasn't all that funny. Erica was a handful when she was riled up.

Thankful that his beloved Erica couldn't read minds, Barry smiled broadly. "Well hey, gorgeous. Had a good talk with Henry?"

"Hey yourself, handsome. And as for your question, let's not talk about it right now."

He nodded with puckered lips, understanding completely. She bent down to kiss him and then she pulled a chair up close to his bed.

"They say I may go home tomorrow," Barry said. He got a happy smile that he thought should have been bigger. Then again, considering what she was going through …

Erica finally said, "Sweetheart that's wonderful. It will give me enough time to throw out all the Twinkles, Ring-Dings and Sno' Puffs from the fridge."

Barrymore Ulysses Collingsworth was a man of rugged handsomeness, and a cool exterior. But at the prospect of losing his treasures, wrinkles magically appeared on his forehead, and his "cool" was blown away. His stately, thin strokes of white hair above his temples would probably increase in heft if this matter wasn't straightened out quickly with his darling.

"Ehh, you're kidding right? No one ever said that I can't eat those things after I get out of here."

"No one ever said that I should take a bat to my husband's head if I found him eating that junk, either. But guess what, …"

He grumbled, "Woman, you're exhausting."

"I know. The things we have in common make us a perfect couple." She took a note pad out of her purse.

"You're writing a novel?"

"A reminder—Gimbels has a plan where you can rent a stationary bike for a month with the option to buy it."

"If you're getting it for the reason I think, I'm suddenly a Macy's Man."

"We're not shopping there, dear. Financing the Thanksgiving Parade isn't an excuse to over-price your items. Besides, Macy's haven't had a snacks vending machine in their lobby for years."

"Okay, you convinced me. But ehh, the bike…"

"Stay with it for a few weeks and I promise to get you a rocking horse, dear."

"Don't need you to. That 3-year-old across the street leaves his unattended for hours. Even carrying it, I think I can outrun him back to our front door."

"I love you, but my money's on the kid."

She suddenly sandwiched his right hand with her two hands. She brought her face down to his fingers and her body began to shiver. He brought his face close to hers and he heard her low sobs.

He then felt the warm tears on the back of his hand. Barry pulled his hand away to enable a loving hug around her. Barry's pull brought Erica out of the chair to sit on the bed with him. Heartfelt cheek-kisses were exchanged as he held her and stoked her hair.

How Barrymore loved this wonderful woman. How much he needed her in his life.

Without singing out the chorus that went, "I want a girl, just like the girl that married dear ol' dad", he would readily admit that he marveled and loved this younger version of the woman who had raised, guided and nurtured him. Erica was intelligent, funny, loyal, caring, protective, a pillar of strength and support.

Barry was hooked from the time he initially witnessed all these familiar and attractive traits. That was when he first saw how she treated Hank.

Realizing that this strong woman's love for him exposed her to the vulnerability he was presently seeing, he discovered a self-deceit. He was convinced that he couldn't possibly love his darling more than he already did. Right then and there, he knew that was a lie.

Erica whispered into his ear through her sobs, "Can't get yesterday out of my head. I thought I lost you. … I lost you."

He tenderly kissed her forehead and replied, "Now, you really think that you could get rid of me that easy? Listen, sweetheart, there isn't an angel in heaven as gorgeous as you. And I need my daily fix of my eye candy baby."

"Then again," she answered, "who said that where you're going you'd see angels?"

That was another of the zillion reasons that Barry knew he couldn't be happy with anyone else— no matter the situation, they both tried to make the other one laugh.

Barry nodded, "You're right. Since no one knows when's the day you shuffle off, I better start carrying fans around everywhere I go, huh?"

"And me, you big galoot."

She hugged him tighter. The embrace was so tight that it nearly pushed the air entirely out of his lungs. That was something she had over his mom and it was still another reason that Barry thought the world of Erica— she was stronger than 95% of the healthy guys he knew. How important was that? Well, when they were dating and he found shortcuts to a theatre, Barry never feared walking through dark alleys.

Her husband's caress and assuring words brought back the strong woman. Erica pulled away and took facial tissues out from her purse. She smiled lovingly as she wiped her tears from his husband's face.

In truth, Barry was disappointed at that thought-to-be caring move. Erica was taking away the tears— the medals that she gave him for being so invaluable in her life. DUMB? Yep, but the love of a wonderful woman could always short-circuit a guy's logic.

One final sniff and a cleared throat later, Erica said, "Now that you've gotten your morning bath, let's get to planning. Do you have any thoughts on where we're going on vacation when they sent you home?"

Barrymore's insides were saying, _Hon, when I'm with you I'm already on the best vacation of my life. _But the man couldn't help but stall until he thought up a snappy come-back.

"Ehh, Vacation?" Barry asked with exaggerated surprise. "You think we're going on vacation?"

She brought her hands to the sides of his face. She looked warmly into his eyes as her thumbs gently stroked his cheeks. She then replied.

"Let me rephrase that, do you have any thoughts about me hog-tying you and keeping you in the hospital if you tick me off?"

"Well, I get fed and clothed here. I like the garbs, but they all have that opening from behind. Kind of drafty. I can't wear them at home. When I bend over to pick up the paper from the front lawn, old Mrs. Merryweather will have a heart attack."

Erica pulled back to laugh at the mention of the elderly neighbor. "Or the thrill of her life. But I'm more concerned that no visitors will ever want to sit on our chairs again. So, let's go to rephrase number two: do you have_ annny _thoughts that ever, _evvver,_ enter into your cavernous head?"

There was a short period of silence where he tried to fight back a smile. Barry then reached over and brought Erica towards him again. "Yeah, I don't know what I ever did to deserve the greatest, most gorgeous wife in the world, but I'm glad I did it."

They kissed warmly until they heard a collective "Sigh." They discovered that three nurses had entered the room to enjoy the sight.

One of them said, "Don't stop on our account."

After a spiked tirade was released many miles to the north, a different plea was made over a phone line.

"Please don't.. please don't yell at me. I had my a- - chewed out already. I just called to say that I'll be bringing you to the Hamptons, Mr. Duval."

Paul Duval pulled the phone away from his ear. The weakling's response was sickening, but this was the man who made his luxurious rehabilitation stay possible. What he knew about Paul Duval was still suspect as the men had never met.

Weeks ago Duval's public name was whispered in fear among the French—Gargouille Grise. Nothing that his heart desired could be kept from this ruthless man.

He had temporarily turned his back from a lucrative crime career in Europe to come to America. He had gold and diamonds galore. But there was one thing that he desired more, one thing that made his treasures look like stubble: Eternal Life. And one person had that invaluable gift.

He came to New York City because that was where the immortal from Asgard made his earthly home. The tall, centuries old Thor looked like nothing more than a basketball player with a bodybuilder physic. That gift of longevity must have resided in the power of his hammer, Duval considered. Why else did he keep it at hand so jealously? Flight? That could be attained with boot-thrusters from his insipid friend, Iron Man. Strength? Without the hammer he reportedly staggered the juggernauts Hulk, Sub-Mariner and Mr. Hyde. … OF COURSE THE HAMMER WAS HIS SOURCE OF ETERNAL YOUTH!

Thor's one connection to this world was a Dr. Donald Blake. That doctor's office was where the powerful criminal planned to begin his search for Thor.

And so he came, this Gargouille Grise, wrecking the same havoc that caused so many hearts on the other side of the Atlantic to tremble. Eventually, he had defeated the overrated champion, touching Thor and causing him to be petrified into a stone-like figure. He assured himself that now, in the United States, these lower life forms would likewise fear the name of the**_ Gray_** **_Gargoyle._** Nothing was left but to claim his prize and go back to France.

When wide-built, stone figure could not pick the hammer up from the ground, he cried against such witchery. He would have to wait the twelve hours that was required for his victims to revert back to flesh and blood. When Thor could again speak, Duval would pummel the secret out from him that would enable the frightful Frenchman to lift the mallet. And then the Gray Gargoyle would live forever; his reign of terror would last for untold centuries.

Leaving the hammer by the unmoving Thor, Duval fought back the encroaching policemen and stole into the shadows. He could afford to wait a half-a-day to grasp eternity. But less than two hours later, Thor miraculously appeared in the sky looking as he had before their encounter. The incredulous Gray Gargoyle came out of hiding to give chase. How such an escape from paralysis was achieved so quickly became a lost question when Duval saw his second chance to attain immortality.

Minutes later he had discovered that the airborne "Thor" was just a projected image. The trickster was the skinny blonde-haired Dr. Blake. The maggot had mounted a special 3-D projector on a motorcycle— when he rode the vehicle through the streets the illusionary Master of Thunder appeared to be flying without hindrance.

The Gray Gargoyle was no one's fool and Duval was determined to make Blake pay for the treachery. Driving a stolen delivery truck, the Gray Gargoyle intended to run over the miscreant on the motor bike.

To his embarrassment, he was tricked a second time. Blake stopped at the end of an abandoned, rotting pier. Thinking that the frail man had unwittingly trapped himself, Duval raced forward. Too late, the terror of Europe discovered that he was the trapped one. The combined weight of the cycle, the tuck and the Gray Gargoyle's 450-plus pounds proved too much for the weak pier. They all fell into the East River. The villain's stony bulk kept him from swimming efficiently and the currents began to take his helplessly body out to sea.

As it so happened, the Oscorp corporate helicopter was flying back to Connecticut from a business conference that afternoon. Being firstly enticed by a low-flying "Thor," Norman Osborn viewed the entire chase from overhead.

After the pursuit turned deadly for the Gray Gargoyle, Osborn followed the gasping stony head in the water as it resurfaced once every ten minutes. The industrialist knew a potentially valuable asset when he saw one…. But to Osborn's horror that prize was in danger of drowning. The copter was equipped with Osborn's amphibious balloon-tarps on its bottom, but the choppy water allowed only for a quick rope-pull rescue.

Duval had taken in a lot of water, so his movements were sluggish. But with one foot into the craft, the Gray Gargoyle showed his appreciation. Paul Duval immediately petrified the three workers who pulled him up to safety. Between his gasps for air, Duval began barking orders to the remaining crew; but he stopped. His eyes bulged as before him stood a stately man with short red hair holding a pistol to the back of the nervous helicopter pilot's head.

"I have no problem sending her down. **_Yooou_** are the one who cannot swim. Care to try your luck at a second dunk?"

Osborn and Duvall studied the presumed measure of each other's innate viciousness. Therein began a respected, though uneasy alliance. For these past weeks, the Gargoyle enjoyed isolated luxuries as a guest in Osborn's home in the Putnam County woods. Now it was time to repay the rescue and come under Osborn's employment… TEMPROARILY. A man of Duvall's riches and prestige would suffer the indignation of being someone's servant for only a period of time…. Even if he did own the bastard his life.

This attorney presently on the phone, Arthur Shapiro, had taken care of all Paul Duval's need. Still, this mousey, whiney straw imitation of a man sounded so nauseating. The lawyer was on his way south from the village of Dannemora, and he was ordered to pick up Paul Duval and bring him closer to Osborn— to his Hampton, Long Island Estate.

While Duval had the phone away from his ear, he allowed Shapiro to squeak out his pleas for civility. Finally, when he could tolerate no more, Duval brought the phone back to his face.

"Szi-lonz, you szpine-layzz worm. Come and ge-et me. But fahr you-air szake, don't eee-von zdink a-boat sztr-iiiking up a convair-zay-szown on de way th-aaair."

His vehement words sliced through his accent to become very understandable. The phone disconnected and Arthur was left to hear his own hard gulp.

Three years. If he managed to live that long, Arthur could retire in three years.

"You understand me now, Dr. Richards?"

The graying, handsome leader of the world famous Fantastic Four remained silent. He knew better than to believe that what he had just heard was too far fetched. Actually, considering the special powers that his group and this caller had at their disposal, nothing should ever be too incredible to believe.

It had to be the Ant-man at the other line— that much was clear. Outside of his team, he only gave this phone number to the small spy-smasher last year when he helped the Fantastic Four defeat Dr. Doom. That was before the Avengers were formed. Speaking of which, since the Ant-man didn't use the other untraceable number, the direct line between the Baxter Building and the Avengers Mansion, Reed figured that he was now, or soon will be, on the move. That meant initiating a second contact with the peanut-sized protagonist could be difficult. Dr. Richards knew that he had better have the facts straight the first time.

The renowned Fantastic Four intellectual repeated the information back to the Ant-man not only to check his comprehension, but also to check for an inconsistency before confirming his involvement.

The Fantastic Four had to appear in criminal court to testify against the criminal who named himself the _Thinker_. His break-in and entry into the Fantastic Four Headquarters, his weapons theft, and the collateral damages he inflicted on the city should set him up for at least twenty years.

Now, the Ant-man had told Reed that the Thinker was going to enter the courtroom merely as a show; as an exhibition that there was no situation that he couldn't turn to his advantage. The Thinker was leaving no less than five minutes after the gavel opened the hearing. More than that, law-enforcement was going to escort him on his casual walk away from the building and the country. No one will attempt to restrain him.

"And, let me get this straight," the leader of the fame quartet continued. "The Mayor, my team and I are in the courtroom to testify against The Thinker this afternoon. A bombing occurs somewhere in the city. The Thinker threatens three more explosions in heavily populated areas within the succeeding ten minutes if he isn't released and allowed to take a police helicopter to a ship waiting for him beyond U.S.-territorial waters."

Yes, Richards knew that The Thinker was a master inventor and planner. Yes, he knew that the Thinker was a vicious man who cared little for the lives of innocent people. But the plan … THIS plan … Could the claim about this designed escape be legitimate? The information came from a man who Ant-man readily described as a junkie; a junkie who burned the FBI six times in four months with false alerts. And that was why the informant turned to the Ant-man— the government no longer considered him a credible source. To them, he was just an addict looking for money to score a hit. This _Danny Cohen_ needed Ant-man's endorsement to get the ball rolling and get another chance at a whooping government paycheck.

Hmmm, a highly unreliable informer with an ignoble motive, to say the least.

Still, this Cohen person had help imprison many spies and would-be saboteurs in the past. And the Ant-man believed this current story. Okay, Reed would lend his troop to the preventive maneuvers. Dr. Richards would also persuade Mayor Wagner and Police Commissioner Murphy to place men at all bridges leading into the city.

"What are we looking for?" Reed asked.

"Delivery trucks of _White Rock_ Sodas. I requested that some FBI men go to the bottling site on Flushing Avenue in Brooklyn, but I suspect that the bombs will be placed in the trucks after they packed up and left for their distribution routes."

"And when are these bomb pick-ups to occur?"

"I'm not certain and the company has 14 truck routes. Because the FBI wasn't enthusiastic about the source, they wouldn't give me all the agents that I needed to tail these trucks. I instead ask for covert checkpoints on the bridges and the Battery Tunnel. I'm not worried about the Midtown Tunnel—due to the repair needs, the city closes the inbound lanes on non-rush hours.

If there are isolated areas on the Manhattan side where the soda trucks could be pulled over and searched, that's where the agents will be. If those secluded areas are on the other side of the bridges, then the Feds will have folks there."

Hank continued, "Cohen was to be a look-out on the Manhattan side of the Williamsburg Bridge. According to the time he is to report there, I'd say that these trucks will make it onto the bridge about an hour from now."

Reed asked, "That is where the bombs will enter Manhattan?"

"One or a few of them," the Ant-man responded. "Where the others are coming in, well, … the Feds heading to the bottling plant will also get their hands on the truck routes and we'll see.

"Then, of course, we don't know if the bombs will be loaded onto the legitimate trucks or if somewhere along the way, four new trucks will magically appear. For that reason trucks attempting to enter from New Jersey and the Bronx will immediately be boarded."

Reed responded, "The trial is scheduled for 1 PM. In the event that your … _Cohen character _ gave you the wrong time table, I'll have my unit search the Island until 12: 40. The Fantasti-car can split into four smaller vehicles. They are speedy and mobile to a standard beyond what you may know. I had also, long ago, installed each of them with an x-ray monitor. We will fly over any White Rock truck that may have already entered Manhattan and we'll retrieve inner imageries."

"Understandable and greatly appreciated," Hank said. "I'll ask my people to back up the Feds and the police on the bridges and tunnel leading to the borough.'

After hanging up, Hank smiled. Reed Richards' tone was a little too wide-headed when he spoke about his vehicles' capabilities, but Hank wasn't entirely annoyed. Needless to say, it didn't tickle Henry Pym as when he heard Yolanda Vanko taking pride in her invention. But better to hear Richards patting himself on the back than listening to Tony Stark's boast. As unfair as it sounded, Hank couldn't shake the feeling that the industrialist's behavior reminded him of everything that had gone wrong with Hank's romantic life.

The subsequent call that he made went to a great Avenger and gentleman— Steve Rodgers. Hank included a quick _thank you_ for a personal and unrelated matter. Then Hank supplied to him the information that needed Captain America's response.

Minutes later, the star spangled Avenger was heading to the Williamsburg Bridge under the siren of an unmarked police car. Four blocks before the bridge, the sirens were to be cut off so as not to attract attention. The Avengers' butler, Edwin Jarvis, was asked to contact Thor through a midtown doctor and Iron Man through his boss' private line. Nearly all the Brooklyn-to-Manhattan entry points were covered.

Unbeknownst to the others participants, Dr. Pym shared a friendship with a Westchester Dean of a school of extraordinary students. Professor Charles Xavier had lent him the services of Marvel Girl, The Angel and the Iceman (Cyclops and the Beast were too invested in following up a lead on the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants to also participate). They would be monitoring the New Jersey entrances to New York. Now Hank needed only one more member.

Peter Parker was walking through the fourth floor of Rockefeller Building in a daze. Below his thin tan slacks, his sneaker-hugged feet seemed to move without the rest of his body noticing. His hands kept bringing the check up to his face so that his eyes could reaffirm that it wasn't a mistake. His calculating mind figured out that this payment was 2.8 times bigger than his best paycheck from J. Jonah Jameson.

_Ohhh yeah…_ Peter had found his new employer. Good-bye Bugle, hello NBC-TV's Huntley-Brinkley Report. He made it to the large employee check-cashing section. The detailed, old fashion 1930s décor would normally have held his admiration, but not now.

The in-this-world-and-out youth stood on one of the two short lines in front of the cashier windows. He vaguely heard someone behind him call out for a "Richard." But that was no concern to him, really. Well, so he thought… until a firm hand pressed upon his shoulder.

"You deaf, kid?" Frank Dolmen asked him. Frank was a bi-speckled, double chinned, rollie-pollie, pale man with a terrible comb-over. But he looked like Mr. America to Peter, since it was Frank who instructed his secretary to type out his check and his temporary check-cashing ID.

"Sorry", Peter said suddenly remembering that his photography moniker was Richard Fitzpatrick. "I was in my own orbit, I guess."

"Well here's a phone number. The call came in after you left. After you cash your check, the pay phone is just by the door." Frank's thumb jerked over his right shoulder.

"Richard" looked at the paper that Frank handed him. It was Dr. Pym's number.

Since he was just the second person on line, the teen promised to call after he got his money.

Strangely, Frank Dolmen didn't leave after being thanked. The peripheral look from Peter surrendered to a full head turn towards the man. He asked the smirking older man if he had anything additional to say. And boy, was he sorry for that.

"Okay, kid, tell me. How'd you do it?"

"It?" Peter asked.

"You know— those photos. They were spectacular."

"Umm, Thanks."

"Let's hear it— where did you perch yourself? How did you get does different angles so quickly? You had a few buddies, right? What possessed you to get so close to that dangerous fight?"

He dogged Peter even to the cashier window. Okay, this Frank fellow paid way better, but he was too nosey and too clingy. No amount of money was worth so many obligatory answers. That was uncharted territory laced with mine fields that could cause Peter to somehow give away his secret identity.

"Richard" finally managed to get some private time for his call. But Frank was a few yards away from the rows of payphones. He was ready to re-drill the photographer as soon as he hung up.

Waiting for the phone at the other end to pick up, the teen fiddled with one of his shirt's long sleeves. He lowered his web-cartridge-carrying elastic band down to his wrist. He had planned a post-phone call maneuver. A webbing, in the shape of a mouse, skipping across the floor in front of Frank was sure to get the relentless inquisitor's squealing attention. Peter only needed a few seconds to dart pass the guy. But first things, first.

"Great to hear it," Henry said over the line. "You now can pay the month's mortgage, you have more than half of next month's, you can get your Aunt's jewelry back from the pawn shop, and still have a little over for a date, if you have a little honey."

Hank knew about Betty, but he didn't let on. Revealing too much about his successful info-gathering talent would invite unnecessary questions that could only be answered by a former spy-smasher, not a scientist. Hank then quickly brushed aside the youth's _thank yous_ to get Peter's attention to the more important matter.

"A person who has ties to another part of the NBC news network is saying that Giant-man was looking for help at the 59th Street Bridge, pronto. If he finds away to communicate with someone like Spider-man, you would do well to get yourself over there with a camera. Take care, Peter."

Hank hung up not wanting to answer how he knew all this. Hank was calculating that with Peter's adrenaline on a high over his payment, the always helpful teen would get there in his heroic identity. Henry rolled one cheek as he soothed his conscience. Hank was the one with the connection to another part of the network—Ray Ailes. So it wasn't a lie, after all.

"Giant-man is looking for help?" Yolanda Vanko asked.

Henry turned around in surprise. He was immediately annoyed at himself over ignoring the small noises behind him. A minute ago, Yolanda had entered the Lab with the newly tested digital clock and waited until he was off the phone to announce its success. But she suddenly put it on the desk in front of Hank as if it was a mere paperweight.

"The Unicorn is ready," she beamed. And then on a second thought, she added, "Well the boosters for flight and the mechanics for the strength. It can generate the equivalent power of 4 bulldozers… maybe five. The horn blast is a few days away from completion, but I can assemble something quick in my palm-blasters. They're tested and I'm only a minute away from assembling them. I made them good enough to challenge Iron Man's repulsor rays."

Yolanda was inwardly angry at herself for dragging her feet the last week. Otherwise, the complete armor might have been functional right then and there.

"Shouldn't you be at the Daycare?" The man who held her interest asked.

"Not on Mondays. Give me three or four minutes and I'll be r—"

"Listen Yolanda, dear… ehhh, maybe we should—"

"Talk about this? Okay you talk on our way to the bridge. You know I'm going with you no matter what. So let's not waste time here with useless debating. We should be meeting up with Spider-man."

The Avenger thought for a moment. The young woman was right. Time was of the essence. And she wasn't a child who he could send to her room. He couldn't cement her feet to the floor (as much as he thought it was a good idea). And since she knew that he was going to the bridge, she was eventually going to show up there. No matter how emphatically he would put his foot down, she'd be there. He might as well wait for Yolanda, this new _Unicorn_. If he stayed along side of her, he could look out for the spirited young woman.

"I don't like being painted into a corner, Henry said. Yolanda wasn't buying his supposedly offended appearance.

"I should have known this day was going to come," he sighed. "I don't think you're ready, but here is where you prove me wrong. You will have to do as I say; no individual plans or heroics, you understand?"

She nodded with a big grin.

"And we're definitely talking about this when we get back."

"_Absolutely!"_ Yolanda said. " Between us, I'll be able to get all the details into my diary."

"THAT"S NOT WHAT I MEA—. Never mind. Just don't make me look like the sidekick, you understand?"

References:

1) Ant-man & the Fantastic Four vs Dr. Doom: Fantastic Four # 16 (1963)

2) Grey Gargoyle tricked into falling into the river by Dr. Donald Blake: Journey Into Mystery # 107 (1964) Using a "weak pier" seemed better than the actual incident that lead to the plunge.


	18. Chapter 18: If Only Life Was Simpler

Chapter 18: If Only Life Was Simpler

On the 12th floor of George Town University Hospital, Barrymore Collingsworth excuse himself as he made his way to the bathroom. That left his darling wife with some time to use the hospital phone to check for messages telephoned into her office at the Pentagon.

The only call came from her dumb brother, Nee. He was urgently requesting a favor. It was a favor she was ready to give her favorite dim-wit.

* * *

The shadow of trees had stretched over the children shielding them from the harsh sun. The Negro boy had smiled when Paige was playing with his sister. Those two things made Sam Guthrie feel at ease.

The other boy sensed it and he willingly allowed himself to participate in short spurts of dialogue. Unfortunately, there were long awkward spaces of silence between the subject matters.

The bothers sat on the grass about six feet from the long flattop stone where their talkative little sisters engaged freely. It allowed the brothers to keep an eye on their siblings. It also put them within pull-'em-back distance if the sisters decided to wander off. Additionally, the space prevented the sisters' conversation from distracting them while thinking of subject matters to interrupt their silence.

It was something Negro and White mothers say— men folk can't carry on more than one conversation at a time. Women have the ability to talk to a neighbor, listen in on her older child's conversation, hear from her baby's jabber if he is content or about to cry from hunger, and still know what's happening over the radio.

Feeling dumb that he didn't do so earlier, the darker boy announced, "So, eh.. mah name …"

"Yeah," Sam Guthrie interrupted. "Ah was wonderin' when ya be gettin' ta dat. Ah can't rightly yell 'Hey ya'll' if I see you a pace off."

That particular discomforting scenario that Sam spoke about stirred a giddy feeling inside of Samantha's brother. Here was a white boy who would actually call him over if he saw him. Here was a white boy who could have used any derogatory name on him, but Sam preferred to call him by name. As Methuselah could have tripped over his own beard, the laughter that came out of the colored boy's mouth surprised even him.

It was a goodly, friendly laugh. Sam didn't know what was so funny, but the white boy began to chuckle also. The infectious laugh spread to the sisters, as they began to giggle. After a long while of laughing over nothing, Samantha's brother began again.

"Mah name" – He stopped to hold back a laugh.

"Aww come on now," Sam said with a smile. "Am Ah gonna hafta wait 'till we're old an' in wheel chairs ta find out?"

Three voices again began to chortle. Only one voice spoke out with strong determination above the laughter.

"Hiz'm name iz Ka' Lucaz," Samantha declared, It was a proud moment for the little girl who thought that it was very grown-up of her to try to calm the foolishness. But then the giggly Paige leaned her weight to the side and rested her head on Samantha's left arm. This made both girls fall over onto the grass. Like the city slicker in the woods who thought he could use poison ivy when he couldn't find toilet paper, the foursome made such a ruckus as to scare off a charging bull.

Finally Sam asked, "So it's Ka? Ah guess Ah'll remember ya'in name whenever I hafta go ta da bathroom."

"NO! NO! NO!", the boy responded. "It's Carl… **_CARRRRL!"_**

"Okay Carrrrl," Paige and Sam replied in unison. The atmosphere had definitely lightened. The male talk was almost as fluid as the sister's conversation. How it led up to motion pictures was anyone's guess.

"You hearda Rodan?" Carl asked in amazement over Sam's passing comment.

"Sure. Everyone has, … I think."

"No,"' Paige said with a pout. "Nod dalk abou' id. Dey was scay-ee."

The boys shouldn't have been surprised that the rusty-headed girl was in tune with their conversation while keeping up with her own—it was that woman folk talent, you know.

Samantha placed a comforting hand on Paige's hand. "Oh, foost Ah waz scay-ah, doo. Buh in da enn', Ah waz so-wee fo' dem."

The girls began a discussion about the troublesome humans who should have known better than mistreating mindless creatures going out only to find food and sometimes wrecking unintentional havoc. The "birds" as they called them never eat people, now did they? They ate that big lobster-thingy that chased people. How could they be scary? They were as big as buildings, but in a real way the two Rodans were like children. They were **_dumb_** in not knowing that grownups will have a say in any of their activities if they weren't secretive; **_clumsy_** in wrecking stuff, but "scay-ee? Naww."

While Paige was learning a new appreciation for the Japanese bigg'ens, Carl and Sam explored their reasons for loving the film. Carl's eyes widened when he recounted the awesome display of power exhibited by the creatures. Where that wasn't loss on Sam, young Mr. Guthrie got a chance to discover the different heavy artillery that was at an army's disposal. Okay, they weren't that effective in the movie, but they were still impressive.

"Where did you see Rodan?" Sam asked.

Carl explained what Sam already knew. Four days before Thanksgiving and Christmas the Bijou and the Bijou East interrupted their regularly scheduled first run movies to show old monster flicks afterschool. The week between Christmas and New Years saw a _morning-to-mid-afternoon_ marathon of that stuff.

"Yeah," Sam said nearly jumping out of his own skin. "Rodan, then a break, then King Kong, one day. The next day Godzilla, a break, then King Kong Versus Godzilla ."

The boys gave each other a celebratory hand slap as they just made a real connection.

"Well ah like da Ga'den Leaf," Paige said defending her favorite theatre. "Dey show Lady an' da T'amp, Some Alvin an' da Chi'munks, an' Snow White."

"Yeaaah, mommy took me day-ay," beamed Samantha. "I don' 'emeber doo much a da oddas, buh I 'emeber Snow White. Ah hides mah face when she waz in da fowest an she seein's dem scay-ee things. Buh I lub id."

"Me doo. Me doo. Ah lub dem seben liddle dwa'fs."

The girls then attempted their own celebratory hand slap. When they missed everyone laughed, but the girls executed it perfectly the second time around.

Left to themselves, there seemed to be a lot in common between the Lucas' and the Guthrie's . This made Sam ask another question.

"How come ah haven't seen ya'll dere?"

Carl responded, "We sits in da balcony. We cain-ts sits wit you."

The boys' commonality had made Sam forget the way of things. People's skin color seemed more important to folks than whatever interest they shared. In the theatres, the Coloreds Section was upstairs. The Whites were on the ground level. It was a sobering slap in the face to be brought back to the way things ought to be; they ought to be … kinda … maybe….. did it have to be all the time?

Sam asked himself, couldn't there just be one section so that anyone who wanted to sit next to someone was free to do so? It sure would be funny to see if Carl had to hold his sister the way Sam had to hold Paige when Rodan hatched from that giant egg.

"Nex' dime, we'll all go, an' we'll si's tagedda," Paige triumphantly concluded.

"Yeah," her friend said, "We'll si's like dis." Samantha's left arm locked around Paige's right . _If only,_ Sam thought. He then noticed an uneasy smile on Carl. The boys were old enough to know what was just dreaming and hoping.

Suddenly the quartet heard an alarming voice at a distance.

"Ma Gwen!" Carl said as he shot up to his feet.

"Ya calls ya'in Ma by name?" Sam asked

"No, she's jus' one a da old ladies dat look afta us when our paren's are workin'. Our whole town has dese Mas. Ma Mabel, Ma Doris. Ma Hattie …"

"Don' fageds Ma Gwen," Samantha helped.

"Of course not," Carl replied while shaking of his head and giving his sister an incredulous look. "She's da one lookin' fo' us now. …. Com'on, we best be goin' Sam." Turning to the Guthrie boy, Carl added—"an' it was nice meetin' ya'll, an' Paige, Sam."

"Same here," The Man of the Guthrie house answered instinctively respctful.

They were of different kinds. And they weren't as dumb as the Rodans—they knew that they couldn't let a grownup see how they got along. Trouble was always a step behind when one doesn't know his place. The call from Ma Gwen became louder. They had to separate fast.

When the boys turned towards their sisters on their rock-couch, they found them defiantly hugging each other. One right knee touched the other girl's left knee. On their laps were their egally stubborn babies, Holly and Hermione.

This sight wasn't the least charming to the brothers. It was downright frightening.

* * *

The top floor of the Kurtzberg Building's four-story Penthouse had less square yardage than the floor below. This allowed the 4th floor to be completely encircled by a patio deck that was 21 feet wide. It was ideal for sunbathing, social gatherings, gardening, ... and looking down to see if a police van was waiting for you outside of the public park situated close to the 59th Street Bridge.

That was what Dr. Henry Pym was doing behind a pair of binoculars. A windowless police van was scheduled to take him and a _new crusader_ to the Manhattan side of the bridge.

Henry wore a blue long sleeved shirt over his Giant-man costume in the event that someone from a neighboring roof spotted him. Revealing where the hero lived would prove dangerous for everyone, including the other tenants. The patio's parapet covered his lower regions, so street paints were not necessary to wear. He had quickly soaked his hero attire in the size-changing solution. The near-perfect day's warm sun and the cool breeze was drying his costume off. At the Avenger's feet was a fairly large, tan satchel. The dear Delfina Gilbert had packed Yolanda's street clothes and placed it inside of the satchel in the event that Yolanda had to walk away from the mission. For Hank's part, he had his civilian pants inside of it so that he could do likewise at the end of the bomb search— if he could indeed still walk away under his own strength.

Besides his pants, he placed communicators in there by his tool box. This box had a "freckles painter," eye glasses, false eyebrows, mustache and nose, a wig, and an attachable fake forehead that had realistic wrinkle lines. Of course he hadn't handled any of those items since his covert anti-espionage days, but that didn't mean that Henry had forgotten how to disappear in a crowd.

Dr. Pym put down his binoculars for a minute. He found himself releasing deep sighs too frequently. It wasn't because of Jan. As a matter of fact, he relished the call to action—it enabled him to forget about her. Well, there was one sad memory trigger, but that was only when he passed her bedroom door again.

No, the source of the dramatic exhaling came from his disgust over himself and a sense of mourning. He knew that this day was coming. Being privy to her most of her diary entries and scrapbooks, Henry knew that Yolanda was aiming to follow her father's steps in his later years. She was going to put herself in danger and become a heroine, come hell or high water.

Long ago Hank should have pulled the rug out from under her as big sis Erica had done to him when she disapproved of his plans. Yet could he really? With the death of her parents, Hank felt that he was her father figure. She would bring to him her latest inventions looking for his approval. This included the renovations to the original Unicorn design. How could he not lovingly encourage her?

Well, maybe it was really cowardice controlling him back then, but now it was too late to turn this little express train back towards her terminal. She wasn't a child anymore. He couldn't send her to her room. And even though he would have loved to cement her feet to the living room floor, he knew that the opportunity to redirect her to other things had passed. Be that as it may, Hank would still insist that she stay by his side. And if she was going to be in the line of mortal danger, Hank would gladly step in front of her and sacrifice himself.

The Avenger also suffered from a bout of mourning. Soon Yolanda's naiveté would be lost. He loved hearing her exuberance when she spoke of correcting life's wrong. But from today, she'll see the ugliness and ungratefulness of the world. The villains that she read about were always at a distance; bad yes, but still images on a newspaper. Now they will present themselves in all their detailed, cruel, murderous personas. They'll use 4-year-olds for shields if they had to. They'll horribly disfigure the bodies of dead policemen. They'd surrender themselves in order to let your guard down and think nothing of then firing a gun at your head.

And how will she react when the same public who she swore to protect are swayed by unscrupulous media giants to believe that she is as dangerous as the criminal she fights against?

A playful breeze suddenly stirred Hank with a familiar fragrance— the one that Yolanda wore when she woke him up today. He instinctively turned to his right. Did he just spot Yolanda on the patio? Did she just disappear back indoors? Was that a sign that she was getting cold feet? If only his Christian faith was intact—he'd be on his knees right then praying that it was true.

* * *

Earlier, Yolanda was in Laboratory E fitting herself into the Unicorn armor. She turned this side and that side in front of her full length mirror. Within Yolanda there were two emotions elbowing each other. Firstly, she was extremely proud of her achievement (save that the headgear wasn't fully equipped to launch an attack). Here she was: the new champion of the people. The NEW Unicorn.

Secondly, she was thrilled to no end. Here she was going out on her first mission after all those months of hard work to complete her project. Obviously, she was on what Americans call a "short leash." But who was by her side, holding that leash? The man whom she finally had to admit had captured more than just her admiration— Henry Steven Pym.

She tried not to spoil the moment by running up to the patio roof. Instead she was determined to walk out of Lab E. Yolanda was a woman now… more so, a super heroine. She was a picture of dignity, sophistication, elegance— _DAMN IT!_

She reached for the side of the table to keep herself from falling. How did that stupid blouse get entangled around her feet? …. Yolanda was in a hurry to suit up for action, that's all. No one saw it, so there was nothing to live down. She picked up the blouse and then she looked for a hanger… a hanger …eh, a…

Awww, to blazes with it. Yolanda didn't have time. She threw it over the back of a chair and ran out of the door. Whoa— she reminded herself to reclaim the air of a suave fem fetal. She was going to just walk… VERY FAST!

Yolanda got to her room quietly. The walls were insolated, but she didn't want to chance waking up the Wicked Witch of the Western World. Jan would find some way to ruin her premiere, she just knew it. Opening her closet door Yolanda grabbed one of her six shoulder bags. She choose the soft, shiny, metallic, light bronze one. It looked like something a scientist would carry samples in. Well, … maybe not, but it looked great with the armor.

With the bag strap over her shoulder, Yolanda headed back to the lab to get her helmet and then make a quick dash to the fridge.

Lab E (as well as the kitchen) was one floor below the dormitories and she was in a hurry. If one day it would be of great importance to test the ease with which the armor on her rear and thighs could slide down a wooden banister, she would remember this day.

She entered the silent kitchen with the bag on her right, and the helmet between her arm and her left rib. Both were placed on the counter in the middle of the kitchen to free herself. Out of the refrigerator she took sliced turkey, lettuce, Swiss cheese, mayo and whole wheat bread. If the stake-out was going to take more than an hour, Yolanda wanted to show Hank that she had his best interest in mind. She was certainly a better comrade-in-arms than that woman. And she was miles above her when it came to being a caring lover—_oh,_ _you bet'cha!_ Look at that—she had unconsciously adopted one of Erica's signature phrases. That ought to further soften Henry's heart.

Her arms were full of her prizes. She closed the refrigerator door and discovered that Brygitka was standing behind it with her eyes the size of dinner plates.

"Oh don't look so surprised," the young woman said. "You knew I was working on this armor."

Brygitka said nothing, but turned her head to call her sister into the kitchen.

Yolanda frowned and began putting three sandwiches together— one for her, one for him and the third to—_SIGH_—share. After the fourth annoying cry that came out of Bryditka's mouth, the 57-year-old decided to look for the prodigal sister. That was a welcome relief for Yolanda.

The sandwiches were finally in her bag and Yolanda made her way to the stairs. The temptation came to her … and it was appropriate to warm up her propellant footwear, after all. She put on her helmet and spoke, "Boosters."

Miss Vanko's feet vibrated a little and then she began to rise. She made sure to keep her left thumb way from the side knuckle of the index finger— she didn't want to increase her speed beyond 2 feet per second. It was a good clip by which she could maneuver around the stairs and landings.

After she reached the 4th floor, Yolanda's eyes dipped under her head gear's eye slits. The illuminated readings indicated that there was no engagement of mechanical strength. Great— when she slid open the glass door to the patio, Yolanda didn't want to have to chase after the door as it sailed over neighboring rooftops.

As Yolanda stepped out, she heard a "ding" announcing the opening of the elevator doors behind her. With one foot out in the patio, Yolanda turned to see a frantic Brygtka running out and pulling her sister along by the arm. Looking straight at Yolanda's headgear, Brygitka gasped. "It's worst then I thought. _Look at her!"_

Henry Pym was only a 12 yards to her left, looking through a pair of binoculars. Yolanda took off her helmet and put her index finger to her lips. She needed to hush the older woman and avoid this embarrassment.

The sister brought Delfina to her side. Del, for her part, seemed to think that the theatrics were unnecessary.

"My crazy sister," Del began, "thinks that you look too masculine in that armor. And considering who you are going with, that isn't the best idea."

Yolanda again gave the hush signal; the humiliated young woman stepped inside and closed the sliding door.

Brygika added, "So you think a shoulder bag will make you look alluring? You need to be as seductive as that woman is. She can dress femininely when going to battle, so can you." Yolanda started to defend her armor design, but Del raised her palm.

"Yolanda, dear, I don't think it's all that bad. The darker colors, I'm not sure about but the gold looks fine. If there are any refinements that we can think of, we"—she looked at her agitated sister— "will come to you, and respecting you as an adult,-" Del looked back at Yolanda—"we will ask you to consider them."

"Thank you," Yolanda whispered.

"But I must say, your armor's round hips and the extra space you provided for your breastplate should do wonders to combat any masculine features in that design."

The brilliant Miss Vanko turned away with a blush.

"Let's see that Helmet again." Delfina said.

"Horriid."

"Quiet, Brygika" Delfina enforced.

Yolanda held the helmet in front of her face so that the sisters could grasp the whole attire. The gold that started by the earpieces, and widen as it went forward to cover her face stood out against the rest of the black metal covering. Yolanda's left eye moved to the side to take in the reaction.

Del raised an eyebrow which didn't indicate a favorable view.

"It certainly is… different," Del finally said.

Yolanda responded with, "I'm trying for intimidating. I want to look like a very dangerous combatant. I don't want to come across as a little girl going Trick-or-Treating on Halloween." Dr. Pym opened the door behind the young woman and asked, "Are you okay?" Have you—"

"Changed my mind?" Yolanda said finishing his question. "No, no." She turned to the biochemist. It was the first time Hank had seen the armor in full color. He looked her up and down. He puckered his lips and nodded to signal his approval.

Yolanda, though, felt her heart skip at seeing his lips that way. She gathered enough control to say, "We were just saying our good-byes."

Filled with emotion, Yolanda hadn't really noticed that Henry was disappointed over her determination. He returnied to the patio.

Yolanda leaned her forehead forward towards the women. Her index finger pointed down and made a circle. The signal to turn around and go away was not well received by Brygitka, but Del smiled.

Hank was again looking through his binoculars as she hurriedly joined him on the terrace. The conversation with the sisters left her a bit self-conscious. As she walked up to Hank, she gave herself a once-over. When she looked at her feet, she also noticed a satchel on one side of his feet. But her eyes stopped at the small puddle on the other side.

What?" she heard him say. She quickly looked up to see Henry looking at her. "You think I have a bladder problem?"

Yolanda laughed.

"I took a quick dip in the sub-atomic vat. I wanted to make sure the costume didn't tear if I needed to become Giant-man. Having my _derriere _out there in the breeze would be quiet embarrassing.

* * *

"Yeah, yeah, we promise. Same time tomorrow. _Pleeease_." Carl's third entreaty work. That was a relief to Sam who couldn't think of another angle by which he could convince the girls that they needed to say good-bye before this Ma Gwen saw them enjoying each other's company. Throwing Paige on his shoulder and running like mad was going to be his next step.

The girls looked at each other. Paige raised her eyebrows and Samantha responded with a quick curl of her right cheek.

The girls reluctantly gave their okays and parted with a hug. Sam saw Carl pulling his little sister away. Her free hand had her cat doll, Hermione. Not able to raise an index finger at her brother, she raised her doll up to his face.

"Ya'll p'omise, Ka'."

"Yeah, yeah. We'll come back to dis same place tomorrow. Ah swears."

Carl yelled ahead of them, "We's heah, Ma Gwen. We's just lookin' around, s'all."

Samantha looked back without too much reassurance. When her eyes met Paige's, Samantha gave one last big smile (as big as a little mouth could extend). That smile was the last that the Guthrie's saw of her as she disappeared behind a bush.

A relieved Samuel Jonas took Paige's hand and headed off to the main road and into the beating sun. Sam's mind was swimming in what had transpired. Carl, the Negro boy— not a wild animal, but a boy with similar interests as Sam. Samantha, his sister— ingratiating smile and perfect playmate for Paige… well, for this one day, at least.

All in all, they carried on— the White kids and the Colored kids—like they were real pals. Real …. pals. Suddenly, Sam was pulled out of his thoughts.

"Ya'll p'omise," he heard Paige echoing Samantha's words. He looked down to his side. Paige was squinting into the blazing sunlight. This was unacceptable to the Man of the House.

"Le's get off a da road and walk under dem tress," Sam said.

They made it to the shade. Unwilling to let it go of her demand, Paige again stated, "Ya'll p'omise." This time just like Samantha had raised her dollinto Carl's face, Sam was nose-to-nose with Holly.

Sam hated to be pushed into something—particularly something that was unnecessarily risky. He was getting angry, as a matter of fact, but she had him over a barrel.

"An' ya'll promise ta say nothin' to nobody, right?" Sam said hiding his agitation.

Holly fell under his eyesight to reveal Paige nodding in agreement.

Sam warned, "Even when we come back here with ya'in friends, ya'll don't say he-ah's where we met Samantha an' Carl. Nothin' even remote ta dat."

"Nope," she said with pleading wide eyes that searched into her brother's pupils.

"Okay, yeah. Ah promise, we'll be he-ah, same place tomorrow." Sam sighed with no real ease. Paige suddenly made it difficult for him to walk. She had hugged him in such a way that his right leg was hindered by her right. Holly's face was on his right side of his ribs and Paige's cheek was on the other side.

"Ya'll da bes-ess b'udda in da wo'ld." Paige cheered.

"Thanks… li'l angel. Ya'll the best lookin'-fo'-trouble sister in the world."

* * *

In one of New York's Plaza Hotel's luxurious suite, Sergie Kravinoff— better known as Kraven, the Hunter— leaned back on a very comfortable recliner. For an outdoors man who normally preferred sleeping in trees (and thereby avoiding surprises from hungry hyenas) this did not take too much of an effort to get used to. It was, after all, a reminder of his much distant past.

He looked at the off-white wall to his right with a mild disappointment. They were gone. Earlier in the morning, the sun's angle produced a small amusement for the hunter. Its rays hit the ceiling chandelier and projected small visions of red, yellow, greenish blue, and bluish purple against that wall. It wasn't as spectacular as viewing the open, clear Serengeti night sky. There the moon smiled and the stars winked down towards earth, but here, as he reasoned before, human confines had its passing allures.

He sipped the potion from the goblet in his hand. This particular mystifying drink heightened his athletic powers to rival the strongest and fasted animals on earth. This liquid before this one had a taste that even honey could not sweeten. Still, it produced within him the sensory awareness of the keenest of creatures. His African Eagle Owl-hearing picked up a familiar low volume grumble outside of the door, some thirty feet away. He not only knew the voice, but also the reason for his discord.

The figure finally entered the suite. As the new arrival took his keys out of the door his back was towards the seated mass of muscles. When the man then turned towards Kravinoff, he had the similar features of the comedian Jerry Lewis.

"Humph," the hunter muttered. It seemed fitting— this fellow was also a clown whom Kraven did not find the least funny. Sergei made no attempt to acknowledge the approaching figure who had a cardboard tube under his arm.

Expecting the man to lay something down on the coffee table in front of him, that was where Kraven eyes focused.

In an instant, "Jerry Lewis" took out a five-foot by three-foot map of the city from the tube. It lay on the coffee table without curling up. Evidently, the carrier had previously took the trouble to remove the map from the tube and rolled it up again in the opposite direction before coming here.

Without speaking, the man pulled off his face to reveal the white, nearly nose-less mask of the Chameleon. The seam going down the middle of his face seemed to be the only eye-catching thing about this eerie man.

"Dmitri," Kraven finally acknowledged.

"Half- brother," the Chameleon responded with a bitter emphasis on the word _half_.

The hunter asked, "Are you still whining about the _decadent _rich? Do your lemmings follow you everywhere so long as you keep ranting? Will they follow one another if you tell them to jump off a steep cliff? Do your lemmings know about your….. _bourgeoisie_ duplex?

"Of course, you and your fellow denouncers of capitalism are exempt from living with the unwashed masses; I mean, you are their leader and you should live like one. And while we're at it, it seems you have settles in comfortably here, as well."

The pale faced man answered the last comment and ignored the rest. "We would have been better served under the cover of my town house. It's so secure that I had no qualms about having this map sent there so that I could pick it up."

"_Yooou_ … picked it up from a post office." Kraven chuckled at Dmitri's careless passing of propaganda. He then continued, "Please, Dmitri, it's a hideout. It is in a high maintenance neighborhood, but like the name describes it—it is dark and fitting only for those who spend their lives cringing and running like rodents exposed to light. It hardly has the amenities of a five star hotel.

"Instead of gloriously mounted heads of majestic conquests, you have drooping faces everywhere like skin taken from beheaded skulls. The place is ghoulish, sunless, depressing."

"Well, you think dead animal heads are more revered than mask that I attained without bloodshed, but those masks are the tools of my trade, half-brother. And in my duplex, we would be under the radar—away from the press."

Kraven laughed. "This is the Plaza Hotel. The security here prevented the masses from interrupting the rest of those vain, pointless _Beatles_. Though I can't honestly understand why they drew a large crowd. They make noise, not music.

"Plaza security also enabled Secret Service to covertly bring that whore, Marilyn Monroe, to the room of that equally restraint, … actually, pretentious President Kennedy. I do not anticipate curiosity-seekers, professional or novice, to intrude upon us.

"Try to enjoy the sun light, Dmitri. Your love for the dark and lowly puzzles me. No wonder you are so weak."

Had he not needed to maintain their allegiance against a common target, Dmitri Smerdyakov would have loved to tell his half-brother why they were so different. It was their upbringing. Sergei was the legitimate son, born to extravagance. He was loved and pampered by his wealthy mother. Dmitri was born to the family maid and both of them were denounced by the Sergei's mother. To the advantage of the maid and her son, the matriarch of the Kravinoff estate suffered from partial dementia and, at times, had memory problems.

Dmitri lived in shadows, afraid that undue attention would remind the mistress of the house about her husband's disgrace and force both mother and child into the street. But wouldn't the big windbag, Sergei, have known that already?

Sergie enjoyed surroundings that made him strong and well advantaged. Dmitri's upbringing offered him neither. But there was something that no one could take away from him. His intelligence and his will to rise above whatever life could ever throw at him.

Returning to the present, Dmitri tapped a finger on the map to get the hunter's attention.

"This is what I had been waiting on. An acquaintance had mapped out the route of Spider-man's patrol of the city. Today is Monday. Forget the blue line. The red line drawn on the map is the way he'll travel tonight, Wednesday and Friday."

Kraven leaned forward on his comfortable chair. He raised one eyebrow. "And this acquaintance,… is he reliable?"

"Absolutely. He had look-outs in different parts of the city to pick up a discernable pattern. He is a renowned intellect. I paid him very well. Besides, this was a copy of a map that he had to design for another client. That person has an even smaller tolerance for failure."

"And that other client wants to hunt down this Spider-man, also? Well, I must start tonight, then."

The hunter stood up and stretched like a jungle leopard.

"I hope this fellow is as reliable as you claim." Kraven said, restating his concern. "I hope he isn't like those other buffoons who sent you spiraling into abysmal defeats."

The Chameleon tensed up. It was the reaction that Sergei always enjoyed producing in him.

"Truth be told, you have the lingering scent of KGB arrogance, Dmitri. You fell twice to the Ant-man and once to my prey, Spider-man.

Dmitri snapped to a straightened position. "First of all, the Kremlin never sent competent accessories. The Ant-man failures occurred without my direct involvement."

Sergei answered, "Yes, the first spy-ring roundup happened before you got there. You came to the dock expecting to collect your helpers and all you collected was a cold from the winter winds."

Kraven let out a big laugh and the Chameleon rounded both hands into fists. He released them knowing that in fight against his faster, stronger brother he would come out the worst in the one-sided battle.

"But in the second encounter," Sergei continued, "you were there. … And you were put out of action when he tied your shoelaces together? And he was less than an inch tall? By Kilimanjaro, man— didn't you think to just step on him and finish him off?"

Another laugh rang out. The Chameleon left Kraven and entered the bathroom in an attempt to calm his anger.

* * *

On the penthouse patio Henry Pym gave a compliment to Yolanda about her Unicorn armor.

"I'd believe that you meant it," Yolanda said, "if you were looking at me."

He turned to Yolanda. "Now that's unfair. I couldn't say it if I hadn't look at you. I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true."

That was all the incentive that she needed to recount the setbacks that she stubbornly overcame in completing the project. Hank had heard it all before, but he turned his body towards her as he leaned against the parapet. He was so proud of her progress and her tenacity. Still, if she needed to repeat the story did that mean that the ultra-brilliant young woman lacked confidence? This had to be his fault, Henry figured. He'll have to invest more time with her, that's for sure.

His communicator rang through his earpiece, and Henry excused himself. The call was from Iron Man. His boss, Tony Stark had to comply with a prisoner work program to earn Stark's Industries partial property tax reduction. The prisoner that New York State chose was not to Stark's liking.

Iron Man continued, "So since my boss isn't too hot on this prospect, his lawyers wheeled and deal-ed at the last minute to get this prisoner on the stake-out. It works towards his early release just as if he spent twenty hours a week for 3 months at the site. He's a genius, that's for sure, but Stark doesn't want him anywhere near the plant with so many exploratory weapons around."

Henry asked, "He's a problem? Are you kidding me? He's not going to bolt or turn against us if the things get hot?"

"He has a special ankle bracelet that will fry his entire leg if he tries anything other than what is expected of him; which is to find and neutralize that bomb if it comes his way. Come on pal, you need him at one of the Jersey entrances.

"And another thing, this guy hates the Thinker. I don't really know why, but maybe there was an election to decide who was the biggest evil d - - k geniuses and he lost to the Thinker. I don't know. But he's a good bet on this one, Giant-Man. I'll stake my rep on that."

In the mean time Yolanda was looking around, trying to entertain her eyes while she waited to re-engage Hank's attention. Looking back she spotted Brigitka standing half way out on the patio.

Brygitka was pointing to a photos of a yellow and tan sundress on a magazine.

Wear a sundress? To a Battle? Is this woman cra—?" Yolanda didn't complete the question, because she already knew the answer.

She wanted Brygitka to go inside - Yolanda brushed her left hand towards the right. The older woman nodded and then while still facing the magazine towards the young woman, Brygitka began turning the pages to show other outfits.

OH, LORD HAVE MERCY! What type of lunitic would interpid "go away" as being "turn the pages to show me more dresses?" The _Brygitka type_, obviously. Yolanda opened her palm and repeatedly pushed her hand forward. That should have meant "back off", right? Well not to Yolanda's pal. Brygitka began turning the pages in the opposite direction.

Just as Yolanada thought she could take no more and readied herself to charge towards the patio door, a female's hand reached out behind Brygidtka. In a second the older woman was whisked inside. Yolanda gave a deep sigh. With a more relaxed mind, she caught Hank's words.

"You'd stake your rep on him staying clean on this mission, but being on the Stark plant site is too risky?"

"Richards is in on it and he agrees," Iron Man said.

Upon hearing about the endorsement of the leader of the Fantastic Four, Hank rubbed his face in frustration. "All right. All right. Who is this genius?"

"Are you sitting down, chum? Because you're not going to believe this."

* * *

Dmitri could barely contain his anger, but He did manage to close the bathroom door without slamming it. He rested against the door, satisfied that he didn't let Sergei see that he got to him. Finally he felt in control enough to step towards the sink and look at hs masked face in the mirror.

Yes it was true. Ant-man defeated him. His mind returned to that shameful day. It was two days after that inept Timur Vitebsky mishandled the kidnapping of an American Scientist. Two days after that idiot accidently murdered Dr. Vernon Van Dyne.

* * *

On the second floor bedroom of the Kurtzberg penthouse, Jan Oliva Van Dyne's sleeping eyes suddenly exploded wide.


	19. Chapter 19 Let's Meet And Sing Kumbaya

Chapter 20: Prelude to Chaos.

3 minutes ago:

Spider-man descended onto the ground by a web-sting. While most eyes were on Mr. Fantastic rising into the air on his vehicle, Spider-man was looking at the series of bowling balls that Thor called his arm muscles.

_Daaamn,_ _look at the guy,_ Peter thought. _No smart-aleck was going to him tell him that he should have his long hair in a ponytail._

The preoccupied youth had not noticed the restraint of the surrounding police officials. Thor, though, picked up on the tension and followed their line of vision. The Norse Legend turned around and smiled.

"Ah, yon adventurer of dubious reputation…. But not to the Odinson. I say thou art hero. Welcome."

Thor extended his hand, which nearly blew Peter away. But how do you shake Thor's hand? The tall fellow was impressive to the nth degree. Spider-man didn't want to come across as a wimp. All right then, Peter figured. He would take the Thunder Master's hand and squeeze with all his might.

Peter was wowed again. The big lug didn't flinch. He didn't even feel the grip that could crack a brick.

* * *

Spider-man's foot touched the ground with his back to Yolanda Vanko. She was proud that she didn't release a girlish squeal. Here, within arm's length was her absolute _faaaavorite _non-Henry hero. He had the strength of 40 or 45 men— that equaled Giant-man at his customary fighting size. But she had to admit that he had it all over Giant-man in another way: that incredible spider-speed. A criminal could throw a punch at Spider-man and strike nothing but air. A half-second later, the crook would feel someone tapping his shoulder from behind. He'd turn and Spider-man would be there asking him if he wanted to surrender, or did he want a forced nap.

She froze trying to prepare a proper greeting. Unfortunately, she waited too long. Without acknowledging her existence, Spider-man walked towards Thor.

The Unicorn said to herself, "Now don't tell me that he's starstuck by somebody else. Then again, Thor wasn't just a _somebody_."

Thor and the Spider-man shook hands and began to talk. She turned around to see Giant-man and Iron Man involved in their own conversation. She would have loved to introduce her soon-to-be boyfriend to her hero, which obviously required her to first introduce herself.

It took a while, but Iron Man finally turned away and appeared to be taking off. Yolanda rushed over there to pull Giant-man towards the red-and-blue crusader. Suddenly, the armored Avenger turned back to her beloved.

Darn it, they weren't going to talk again, were they? To her relief, Iron Man then took off.

Before he knew it, Giant-man was trying to catch his balance as Yolanda mightily tugged on his right arm.

"Come on, come on," Yolanda coached. "We've got to meet him."

"'We've got to meet who? Oh, him. Okay."

Thor had also departed. Possessing a hammer that allowed him to travel at a fantastic speed, his exposure would be nearly impossible. He could cover both the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges without the media shouting that a hero was patrolling along the East River. If the Thinker heard that and suspected something, he would turn to a back-up plan and no one wanted that to happen.

Without a distraction, Peter exhibited the politeness that his aunt taught him. He apologized for ignoring the new hero and greeted Giant-man.

Hank saw through her body language that Yolanda was impressed with the young hero. Maybe, she even had a crush. Be it as it may, she was going to be two years older than Peter in three weeks. Wait a minute. For all he knew, Betty Brant may have been 3 years older. Suddenly, Hank had a disturbing feeling.

Peter tried not to notice the Unicorn's hourglass figure. He was Betty's guy, plain and simple. Still, just as he stole peeks at the Fantastic Four's Sue Storm, he knew that his eyes would drift in her direction continually. Thank God that his mask covered his eye movements.

In a less hormonal note, Peter asked what was up with Giant-man and the Unicorn? Was she his new squeeze? Did he kick that less-than-disciplined Wasp to the curb? Well, he couldn't blame the Avenger, really.

Yolanda fought back nervousness and began, "So,… you had a conversation with Thor."

"Yeah, I think he'd be terrible at picture hanging, though. Imagine him putting a nail on a wall with that hammer? Man, the entire building would disintegrate."

Yolanda was pleasantly surprised to see that he had a sense of humor.

Giant-man intervened. There was no time for chit-chat and Spider-man had to know about the danger. Yolanda was glad that Hank did the talking. She was afraid that she would have said something stupid like, "Can I be around when you squash that Kraven character?"

He was Spider-man, after all. And considering that she didn't know him like she did Hank, he strangely made her insides fell like Jell-O.

And then it happened. She got to know ONE thing about him and the Jell-O turned into a heavy rock. Spider-man didn't like the idea of standing around waiting for something to happen. He called himself an "action guy."

His attitude, more than his words made Yolanda want to call him a _childish_ action guy. Good Lord, Hank was talking about bombings and deaths. This Spider-kid thought that being weighed down by a "tire around my neck" was more disastrous than explosions.

Spider-man continued by saying that being stationed inside of an unmarked van drinking coffee and eating donuts was better left to heroes on Social Security.

Hank felt deeply disappointed. Yes, in one hand, Peter was the typical youth in that he had a lot of restless energy. In reconsidering, to put upon him a yoke that required more maturity was unfair. On the other hand, any other teen who had his gifts, would've spent his time making money, driving slick cars, bedding girls and getting drunk. As a testimony to his selfless maturity, Peter fought to make the city safer.

Peter was a good, helpful, self-sacrificing 17-year-old boy; but a boy, none the less. He wanted chasing and fighting….. Or was that his only concern?

"Understand that the police have a _hands-off_ order from the Mayor. They would not be looking to arrest you if let your guard down." Giant-man then waited for a reaction.

Spider-man shook his head and said that it just wasn't something he could do. If on the other hand, he could just patrol the streets….

"The Fantastic Four already have that covered," the Unicorn spat out in annoyance. Spider-man said nothing for a while. Then he begrudgingly consented. But his attitude in relenting reinforced Yolanda's impression of him. And Hank couldn't afford a half-hearted endeavor.

"Listen— forget about it, Spider-man. I shouldn't have asked. Thor's speed will allow him to cover three bridges. Thanks—we'll see you around."

Now it would be a lie to say that the teenage adventurer didn't welcome being let off the hook, but he didn't feel proud, either. He started to apologize, but Hank cut him short. He put his arm around the Unicorn and they turned around. They were heading to the Triborough. There was work to do.

Giant-man asked his partner to activate the built-in communicator in her helmet. Yolanda was to ask Thor to move Captain America north to the 59th Street Bridge. Thor was asked to cover the Brooklyn, Manhattan AND the Williamsburg expanses.

As her mentor, Hank thought that she should get used to focusing on a mission even in the face of a disappointment.

They entered an unmarked police van with windows only in the front and back. As it took them north, Yolanda continued expressing shock over Spider-man's demeanor. Hank let her get it out.

Peter would always be valued in Hank's eye. But now, more than before, he was set against the prospect of Yolanda getting close to Peter. Peter wasn't a bad influence. It's just that Yolanda needed a matured supporter in her life. She needed someone who wouldn't be a drag on her if she followed a _boring_, but correct course.

Hank had a sad smile. He finally had a deeper appreciation for the stirring of Erica's protective nature when she saw him with Jan.

* * *

The Thinker was riding in the back seat of a government car. He preferred to be fashionably late, but it was obvious that he'd be in the courthouse 45 minutes before his 1 PM trail. The handcuffs were an unnecessary accessory to his grey suit and blue tie, but it was only temporary, he smirked. By 1:20 he would be walking out a free man.

It wasn't that his plan had holes, but he had an additional ace up his sleeve. Nobody knew that Flint Marko was going to be in that hallway outside of the court room. The Sandman was going to reciprocate a favor that was extended to him by the Thinker, when he engineered the meta-being's own prison escape. Marko would launch a quick tear-gas strike and then take his benefactor out through the window if his scheme fizzled. But of course, it won't. He was the Thinker, after all.

* * *

Flint Marko held a paper bag in the crock of his right arm. In the bag was a 12 X 18 inch box of Schraft's assorted chocolates. Inside the cellophane-wrapped red box were two thin containers of tear-gas. The candy box would easily pass the inspection at the courthouse's front door.

Marko knew that he had to make his way to the Thinker's trail in southern Manhattan. But that could wait another 15 minutes. He hadn't seen his darling Alexandra for so long.

The Sandman's ability included changing the appearance of his face. And so a recently balding man had his longer-than-usual nose nearly pressing against the wire fence looking at his little princess running and playing with the other first graders in the school yard. It was a pleasure that he allowed himself every day since his escape. He promised himself that one day he'll hold her tight and make up for lost time.

Marko was sure he'd get to the court room before the Judge's gravel sounded. In a few minutes he would walk the few blocks to hop a cab on Second Avenue. There were plenty of taxis around the Triborough Bridge section.

* * *

The side door of the police van was open. Giant-man and the Unicorn sat on the floor of the vehicle with their feet on the rarely used street. The police isolated the area and it was a lovely day. Even if her armor prevented her from feeling the cooling breeze, Yolanda didn't want to stay inside of the vehicle.

She also didn't want to offer her soon-to-be boyfriend the packed sandwiches too early. But the attention she gave her conversation was divided, as she fretted over the condition of the food. Every so often, she would take off her glove and check if the sandwiches were still cool. Mayo plus heat equaled a terrible stomach reaction. To her surprise, they were.

The first White Rock delivery truck passed the Triborough. It was pulled over to where they were stationed. It was searched and let go.

Yolanda wanted to pet the two bomb-searching dogs, but they looked annoyed that they weren't let loose to play in the very pleasant day.

"The dogs look …. **_look_** annoyed?" Hank's question had a teasing tone.

Yolanda turned up her nose, saying, "If insects can talk to you, dogs can look annoyed to me. Ask anybody which of us sounded crazy."

Hank put up his hands in surrender. They watched the soda delivery truck go by and Hank shook his head. Yolanda asked if anything was wrong.

"Look at the White Rock logo. It's a fairy kneeing on the rock looking down into a pond."

Yolanda thought that he wanted her interpretation. She said that the fairy represented purity. Her purity translated to the water and that pure water went into the drink.

"Precisely," he said. "Look at the water below her face. It has rings, ripples. I never drank that soda as a kid; I thought that lousy fairy had spit into the water."

Yolanda fell backwards onto the van floor, laughing.

* * *

The teeth of 13 year-old Tabatha Smith dug savagely into the orange. Her hunger was so great that she could not wait to peel the fruit.

"Whoa there, Tabby," her new friend said. You need to slow up or you'll end up sick."

Tabatha looked up at her friend, Lorna, unconvinced that what she had said had merit. The girl's soiled hand wiped her chin of the sweet juice and her mouth spat out the peel. Her attention went back to the fruit.

Lorna Dane decided to leave her friend alone. The poor kid—she ran away from home because her father couldn't take her _uniqueness,_ as Lorna preferred to say. Living in the streets is hard on her. Lorna , though, had no problem with that. She ran away from the orphanage at the age of 11 and these past 6 years have taught her to be tough and self-reliant …..and a successful thief. But that's what it took to master her environment, she reasoned. And mastered she did, until three weeks ago and again this morning.

Almost a month ago, she was going around as she always did, fingering parking meters and retrieving coins from them with her uniqueness. Suddenly, in front of her stood this good-looking, but weird and pushy guy with white hair. He said that Lorna was lucky that he found her. Because of some future glorious day crap, he was taking her away with him.

Now Lorna didn't know this guy from Adam. No matter how cute he was, she wasn't going anywhere with anyone— least of all, a stranger. He didn't take "no" for an answer and he grabbed her arm. She swung her body into his and planted a knee that should have rung his ding-dong bells and make him sing alto for a month. Darn, her aim was off, but the hit to the lower abdomen still resulted in her escape.

She ran about a block, thinking that she was a safe distance from him. It was time to dart in and out of crowded sidewalks to further lose herself. She turned around to check if he had recovered. But darn if he wasn't where she left him. Okay, fine with her; she turned to continue her escape. And there he was.

He roughly grabbed her collar with both hands and said. "That was most unwise. Do not anger me, girl."—his eyes shifted left and right, noticing passer-bys looking at them— "I didn't come to make a scene in front of these maggots. I came to rescue you from your condition."

He turned his head to his right and jerked his head in a manner that sent a signal for another person to come over to them. This crazy guy had a partner. Well, Lorna didn't want to be rescued and as far as her condition, she could control her world. Whitey, on the other hand, offered no promise of freedom where he was planning to take her. The fact that he was forcibly restraining her sent her mind screaming CHAINS! Sooo…

It was morning and metal trash containers were by the curb waiting to be emptied into garbage trucks. Correction: they were waiting to meet Whitey's head. Lorna flicked the index and middle fingers of her right hand and POW!

The metal lids flew off due to the impact. Lorna again used her talent to ride one of them away like a surfboard. Her magnetic powers enabled her retreat much faster than her legs could have.

**_Her condition_**, in deed. She always had a bed and bath at any of three Salvation Army Shelters. She had enough money to pay a regular to pose as her mom, thereby preventing a nosey shelter attendant's call to police about a "runaway." And her powers allowed her take clothes and food from anywhere.

That incident happened in the West 40's side of Manhattan. She never went back to the Hell's Kitchen area. She stayed north— not going too far from Columbia University's Upper West Side Campus vicinity.

Everything was okay until she met Tabby this morning. Lorna instinctively looked across the street and she found the blonde girl. Her eyes were wide and she was looking everywhere trying to decide where to go. Lorna knew the signs of a rookie on the streets and had pity on her.

Tabby's story left Lorna with admiration for the girl's moxie. She had somehow stowed away in the baggage compartment of a greyhound bus. The last stop was the Port Authority Terminal by the Washington Bridge.

After their talk, Lorna had left the girl on a park bench to get her breakfast. When she came back, Tabatha had company. There was a gorgeous, well-dressed brunette sitting by her, holding Tabatha's hands in a comforting way. And then there was Whitey standing before them.

The woman in the classy white blouse and dark slacks seemed upset with the jerk; to which Lorna remarked to herself, "Gee, what a surprise." The look on Tabby's face was of fear. There were plenty of metal trash receptacles in the park— the metal mesh type— so what happened next shouldn't have been surprising.

With both adults down, she took Tabby's arm and ran. Lorna always had coins that she _borrowed_. She dodged into the first bus that opened its door and off they rode. Unfortunately, Lorna also abandoned the food.

Lorna picked seats that were away from other riders. She found out that Tabatha was given the same B.S. about being rescued and that her power would be a key to usher in a future kingdom.

And what was her "power"?

"I can make this light, this globe," Tabatha whispered to her new pal. "I was just playing with one when they came over. But the globes aren't for playing, really. If I throw one, it explodes as strongly as any hand grenade. Not that I've ever thrown a hand grenade, but …"

Well hey, that was welcome news in the event that they met the terrible twosome again. 25 minutes later, the two girls were on the other side of upper Manhattan, sitting under the shadow of the Triborough Bridge. They had a new collection of food. Lorna had all day to find her way back to one of the Salvation Army Centers to settle the both of them in. Right now it was time to eat and find some fun.

Had Lorna put two and two together, she would have figured out that their confrontations with the would-be kidnappers came immediately after they made use of their powers. If she had made the connection as to how they were found, she wouldn't have**_ borrowed_** more coins from parking meters and storefront gumball dispensers to buy the late breakfast. As it so happened, a car slowly rolled to a stop at a corner, a distance away. The two inhabitants of the car were not there to sightsee.

* * *

He reached his Forest Hills, Queens home quickly thanks to his web-swinging. Still wearing his Spider-man pants, Peter Parker was sitting on his bed looking at his downcast reflection in the mirror of his dresser.

He had his mega-bucks hidden securely under his underwear inside of the second to top drawl of his upright chest. Peter got in without anyone seeing Spider-man swinging around the neighborhood. Aunt May was out, probably with Mrs. Watson, so he didn't have to explain why he wasn't in school. Everything was looking up for the teen. He couldn't remember the last time that happened.

So why was he feeling awful? He didn't bother asking a second time, because he knew. He turned around to get his hero costume shirt from the foot of his bed. Spider-man was heading to the Triborough to tell Giant-man that he was **_in_**… even if the big guy objected. The youth was going to take any location that needed to be filled. Besides, since when did taking the free coffee and donuts that were offered to him become a sin?

* * *

Tabatha had eaten well and she was going to start on her dessert— watermelon. Lorna stopped her own munching when she saw her young pal freeze.

"What's wrong?"

The 13-year-old pointed to a black Ford Crown Victoria a distance away. "That's the car that those two guys came out of to take me away."

Probably not, but Lorna wasn't going to take chances. They moved fast. The girls noticed a police presence on the other side of the bridge. No one had ever caught Lorna stealing, so they cops weren't looking for a girl fitting her description. They would stay close to the poilce for a while until they figured out a plan to get out of there.

They made it to the other side and they decided to sit down closer to the men in blue. As they walked, they heard a whizzing behind them. Maybe they shouldn't have stopped to turn around and look, but they acted on nervous impulse. They saw nothing. But on the ground before them, their two shadows were joined by two more.

"Let's stop this nonsense. You're both coming with me. And don't plan of using your magnetic powers, girl. I'm prepared for you now."

"Well, well— if it isn't my pal, Whitey. What's the matter, even the sewer rats wanted better company?"

A moan from their left made the girls turn. Evidently, the guy also brought his female pal with him. She didn't look too good. She walked away from them, bent over. Guess traveling faster that sound didn't agree with her.

"Wanda", he called after her. She asked to be left alone for a minute. The girls thought that she was probably his girlfriend, because he was walking towards her all concerned and he seemed to have forgotten them.

Then Whitey yelled over his shoulder, warning them to stay put because they couldn't outrun him. But the girls tried anyway. They screamed as they charged towards the police vehicles.

* * *

A distance away from police personnel, Hank and Yolanda were still sitting on the floor of the van with their feet on the cracking black top. She finally figured out why the Wizard's anti-gravity disk seemed so familiar.

She asked, "Were you and Mr. Stark collaborating with Mr. Wittman?"

Henry shook his head angrily, "If we had known that we were in a race, we'd have finished the project long ago."

"Don't feel bad. I took a nonchalant attitude towards finishing the Unicorn horn. I guess we both stand to improve our focus. You help me and I'll help you."

His warm smile encouraged her to finally spring the surprise on her Prince Charming. Yolanda took out the sandwiches from her bag.

"I come prepared," she told her the sandy-haired hunk.

Giant-man replied with a bigger smile, "What can I say? You're wonderful. Donuts have their limited appeal, if you're an adult."

She unwrapped the plastic covering for him and then stopped. She feared that perhaps Henry would feel like she was babying him. But that wasn't the case.

"Okay, did you bring them just to show them to me, or am I allowed to eat?"

His appreciation was better than she had anticipated. Henry told her how caring and valuable she was. Just as her heart soared, he put up his hand and asked for a minute of silence.

Her heartthrob looked away towards nothing. Now, it couldn't be that his cybernetic sensors were scanning the area for his little friends. He did that a while ago, noting that the chunked-out pavements and the shrubbery close to the river were perfect for ant colonies. He also found two wasp nests on trees that were a distance apart from each other. As he told Yolanda Friday— two days before he told Jan, she was happy to say— he had arrived at a frequency to assemble wasps and attack a perceived danger. As if yet, Henry couldn't control them as well as he could the ants; but in a limited way, he had the wasps' respectful compliance. Hmm, Yolanda mused. Only in the insect world could the words **_respectful_** and **_Wasp _**go together.

She was curious as to what was happening, but the young genius respected Henry's request. He flashed two quick frowns and suddenly he came back to her world.

"Yollie, sweetie, I have to apologize. Remember when we spoke about your father's Cerebro project and how it was commissioned by Charles Xavier to find mutants? I never told you that Charles was also a mutant and he has the gift of mental telepathy. He searched me out just now. He must be very far away because his voice entered my brain in a low volume."

Yolanda didn't know if she should consider this as a joke or if he was losing his mind. Still, out of her great admiration for Henry, she chose to go along.

He said, "Turn your communicator to channel 4. We're going to intercept a call directed to the penthouse on the Ant-man line."

Instantly, the earpieces heard a ringing and then Giant-man answered. Henry knew the caller— Scott Summers.

The caller said, "As he no doubt told you, the Professor is tracking down a menace who calls himself Lucifer. Professor X was on an airliner heading for Europe when he asked me to contact you."

That made Giant-man wonder: was Xavier really on the phone an hour ago when he lent three X-men to the case? Perhaps he used telepathy then also.

"He tells me that Cerebro is very active," Giant-man said.

"Strong signals are coming from the area where you are posted, sir. We're looking at one Level D, one C and four As. One of the A's we know is the Blob. You know him, as well. He is resigned to stay a circus performer, so there is no alarm there. The second is as unknown as are the D and C.

"The last two A's are trouble. They are members of a mutant supremacy group calling themselves the Brotherhood. One is a young male, 5-11, white hair, athletic built. His name is Pietro Maximoff by birth, and Quicksilver as an operative. As his code name indicates, he possesses blinding speed.

"The other is a less-hostile— his sister, Wanda. She is a young, brunette, 5-7. She goes by The Scarlet Witch. Obviously, with an outstretched hand, she can cause _accidents._

"Walking among non-mutants like this, and invading other mutants' space means they're recruiting. Being less aggressive, the female should be open if you ask her to stand down.

"You may convince her, where we cannot. The X-men have a history of confrontation with the Brotherhood and she would look at our words of reconciliation with suspicion.

"The brother and sister have shown reluctance to blindly follow the Brotherhood. They have a very strained relationship with the leader of the group, Magneto. Win her confidence and she can turn back the hot tempered Quicksilver. Hopefully, you can even get them to defect.

"At any rate, Ice man is being sent to you. As an X-man, he has had experience with those two and he'll help if things get ugly."

That was fine with Henry Pym. He understood that posting one X-man at the George Washington Bridge invited cowardly attacks from a mob of anti- mutant bigots— but three? The Angel and Marvel Girl were formable enough in Giant-man's assessment.

Yolanda's was impressed with Henry's intriguing web of connections. She was also grateful that he wanted to share some integrities of her father's invention.

When the phone conversation ended, Hank explained that all mutants appeared in Cerebro's sensors as little Christmas lights in the dark. The dimmer lights indicated those who rarely, if ever, use their powers. Many of these may not even know that they are specially gifted. The brightest lights— the "A" level— represented the alpha mutants. They exercise their powers with great frequency.

Suddenly, they heard high pitched screams coming from behind the van. Yolanda jumped up.

Giant-man smiled, "Go ahead, Miss Heroine. Take charge." Referring to the half-eaten sandwich, he added, "I'll wait for you. I don't want to eat alone."

The youthful screams didn't seem threatening to Hank. They were probably playing or arguing. He stayed by the van giving the Unicorn enough time to handle the excitement. Maybe these youths would eventually become the founders of The Unicorn Fan Club.

Yolanda playfully curtsied and then lifted off. In three seconds, she landed in front of the running girls. They stopped about fifteen paces from her and their eyes bulged with fear.

"Another one?" Tabatha screamed.

Before The Unicorn responded, a white-haired man magically appeared within the space that separated her from the two girls.

He snarled, "This is no concern of yours. Get back to whatever you were doing." He turned to the girls. The armored figure noticed that the youngest girl's face increased in panic.

"I say it is," the Unicorn replied. "I don't know who you are, but you better leave these girls alone."

Lorna was considering her own plan of defense, but Tabatha instinctively yelled, "Help us!"

Tabatha was nervously shifting her weight from one foot to another. A yellow orb with an orange outer glow was hovering between her hands.

The man silently turned in a slow and confident manner back to the Unicorn. His scowling face disappeared and suddenly the Unicorn was pushed by something invisible from the right and then from the left. Yolanda fell.

He reappeared in front of her saying, "That's only a sample of what you'll get if you interfere. I won't warn you a second time. Get out of here."

Lorna saw that her rescuer needed rescuing so she put her index finger and middle finger together.

The Unicorn supported herself on her knees and left hand. Quicksilver thought her right hand was half-way raised in surrender. The Unicorn regretfully shook her head, "Well everyone knows when they've met their match."

The surrendering hand was actually aiming her repulsor at the unpaved, dirt ground in front of her assailant.

"But I haven't met mine, yet." In an instant, dirt flew into the speedster's face.

The slim-muscled man reached for his eyes. The angry heroine decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. At a low intensity, her repulsor sent the snow-top jerk bouncing away.

The Unicorn grabbed the two girls by their waists and flew toward the van where Giant-man waited. Both girls would have asked how she did that, but the joy of finding an ally pushed back any questions.

They landed by the van just as Giant-man was turning the corner of the vehicle to see what Yolanda was doing.

"I found Quicksilver," She said with mixed alarm and anger. "The big, brave man was terrorizing these girls."

Both girls recognized the hero's uniform. Lorna felt a great sense of relief, but it was Tabatha who charged and gave him with a frightened hug.

Giant-man's growing anger stopped mid-way to accept the girl's embrace. Police were attending a second White Rock delivery truck that was coasting to a stop at the inspection area. Giant-man called over two police men and charged them to draw their guns.

* * *

Spider-man arrived at the Triborough. He didn't have to look long to find four late model luxury cars, six police cars, four vans and one bomb unit truck close to the East River's edge. The area had street lamps and a fire hydrant, but it was much neglected. The sidewalk and blacktop roadway fought with the ground underneath it for dominance of the surface. " Isolated area for the bomb search" fit the description.

All of a sudden, the crimson figure of the tree-size Giant-man appeared to his left, nearly a block away. Spider-man headed in that direction. He landed on the roof of the green soda truck. Police dogs barked their surprise over the newcomer. That was okay, he didn't plan to stay there. He was about to leap forward towards Giant-man when he stopped.

Was the big lug struggling to keep his balance? What was happening? His concern for the giant was interrupted by a strong alert coming from his spider-sense.

It was aimed at the driver's cabin underneath him. A cop was on the driver's side of the truck. The officer's eyes were shifting between Spider-man and the protesting driver.

The nervous driver not only refused to open the side cargo bays of his truck for the inspection, but he had no intention of getting out of the cab.

* * *

All the way down Second Avenue the residual effects of the marijuana was having its way with Zhi Ming Xu.

He was sure that everyone was out to get him. The American, Posey, had a plastic smile that exposed the lie. In truth, Posey hated him. The two armed guards who were in the front seat were jealous of him. Why else was he sitting in that cargo area of the box truck?

He'll show them, he'll show them all. He wasn't just a little kid that they could take advantage off. He looked back at the mechanical powerhouse that sat against the right wall of the truck. He could get into it right now and show these two goons that he wasn't to be trifled with. Yes he could. He slid off of his seat and approached the strapped-down behemoth.

* * *

Spider-man saw the circle of cops closing in. To the questioning officer, the driver's fear was strengthening, but not because of the blue uniforms that were converging, nor the thump that he heard on the roof when Spider-man landed.

The driver kept looking at his "helper." This unemotional man was looking straight ahead. Even as two officers were approaching his window from the right, he didn't surrender his hypnotic stare. The driver's angry refusals had completely turned into frightened pleas to let the truck go through.

The youthful adventurer atop the truck was motioning with his hands for the officers to back away. But the cop who was questioning the driver had forgotten Spider-man's presence. He yanked open the door. He elbowed the truck driver away and took the ignition key.

The officer stepped away and again demanded that both men come out. This time the cop had his hand on his holstered gun. Hearing the determination of the angry policeman, the silent rider's head slowly turned to the cop.

The panicky driver looked at the silent man and then he turn back to the cop. The driver pulled the door closed, and yelled through tears, "**_Pleeease,_** let us go."

The officer on the driver's side pulled out his revolver. Spider- man senses went wild. The frightened man again looked at the _helper _beside him. When that second man moved, the driver crunched himself, elbows against his chest, hands behind his head.

The driver let out a blood-curdling scream. Instinctively, Spider-man shot a web onto the officer and with a mighty one-handed tug, flung him to the back of the truck. In the space of half a second, the heroic youth got on his knees in an attempt to look through the windshield. Before he could do that, the horrific scream ended with a thunderous sound.

The entire truck shook. The driver and the door flew into the police men who were coming to the aid of the first cop. Spider-man couldn't believe his eyes. Injured policemen were on the ground many yards from where they first stood. The driver and the door were still skidding on the ground.

Spider-man saw the powerful man leap out of the car from the opening he had created and calmly walk towards the main street, Second Avenue. He was about to pounce on him when the other policemen opened fire on the man. They had positioned themselves behind their cars anticipating return fire, but the man had no weapons.

Spider-man jumped away fearing the possibility of a stray bullet finding him. The bullets bounced ineffectually off the silent figure. He turned back to the 8-ton White Rock truck and hoisted it in the air. The police scattered, as the truck landed on their vehicles.

* * *

"Giant-Man," Clint Barton exclaimed as he looked over the arms dealer's shoulder and saw the behemoth magically appear. The dealer turned and ran, saying, "He's on to us."

The archer knew better. The giant appeared unsteady, drugged. Hey, wouldn't this impress his beloved Natasha. Clint could move in and polish off one of Iron Man's Avengers buddy. Yeah, that would score high with her. Then he'd go after metal-britches later. Clint opened his trunk and took what appeared to be a golf club bag out. _Yep,_ he thought, _this is going to be sweet!_

* * *

As the white cargo truck ascended the Second Avenue ramp to the Triborough, Xu was already inside of the mechanical man planning his surprise. But the guards' wild exclamations gave evidence that they looked upon another surprise.

Xu had bent the mechanical man's waist to allow him a better look through the windshield. Blocks away they saw the America hero, Giant-man. At a monstrous size, he was holding his head, appearing ill.

What a perfect opportunity to show the guards, to show the world that Zhi Ming Xu was a champion of Champions. He would be crossed by no one.

The second shouts from the guards came as the motorized man-thing tore through the roof and sides of the truck as if they were tissue paper.

* * *

His car window was rolled halfway down. As he came to the ramp leading to the Triborough Bridge, Arthur Shapiro heard gunfire. Forgetting who was sleeping in the back seat, he screamed "What is that?"

Paul Duval snapped up to a sitting position. A white delivery truck suddenly exploded in front of them. Gun fire was heard. From the right side of the windshield, Duval saw Giant-man and a flying green truck more than three quarters of a mile away. His eyes somehow didn't stay on the shattered truck as Arthur swerved around and in front of it.

His still dazed mind made the foggy connection between the explosion, the gunfire, the sight of Thor's ally— Giant-man— and a flying truck…. THOR HAD FOUND HIM!

Duval took off the blue rubber gloves form his hands. He touched his face and and moved a hand into his shirt. He was instantly transformed into a statute. It was too much for Arthur. The attorney slammed the brakes to stop the car and screamed like a little girl.

* * *

It was also too much for Frederick "The Blob" Dukes. 30 minutes ago he had asked his pal Swen to detour from their route. He wanted to stop off at a Second Avenue deli that he knew about.

Now, Swen and Fred's eyes widened when they saw what looked like a flying soda truck three blocks away. Curiosity overtook Dukes. He handed his shopping bag with seven deli sandwiches and ten Pepsi Colas to his pal.


	20. Chapter 20: Prelude To Chaos

Chapter 20: Prelude to Chaos.

3 minutes ago:

Spider-man descended onto the ground by a web-sting. While most eyes were on Mr. Fantastic rising into the air on his vehicle, Spider-man was looking at the series of bowling balls that Thor called his arm muscles.

_Daaamn,_ _look at the guy,_ Peter thought. _No smart-aleck was going to him tell him that he should have his long hair in a ponytail._

The preoccupied youth had not noticed the restraint of the surrounding police officials. Thor, though, picked up on the tension and followed their line of vision. The Norse Legend turned around and smiled.

"Ah, yon adventurer of dubious reputation…. But not to the Odinson. I say thou art hero. Welcome."

Thor extended his hand, which nearly blew Peter away. But how do you shake Thor's hand? The tall fellow was impressive to the nth degree. Spider-man didn't want to come across as a wimp. All right then, Peter figured. He would take the Thunder Master's hand and squeeze with all his might.

Peter was wowed again. The big lug didn't flinch. He didn't even feel the grip that could crack a brick.

* * *

Spider-man's foot touched the ground with his back to Yolanda Vanko. She was proud that she didn't release a girlish squeal. Here, within arm's length was her absolute _faaaavorite _non-Henry hero. He had the strength of 40 or 45 men— that equaled Giant-man at his customary fighting size. But she had to admit that he had it all over Giant-man in another way: that incredible spider-speed. A criminal could throw a punch at Spider-man and strike nothing but air. A half-second later, the crook would feel someone tapping his shoulder from behind. He'd turn and Spider-man would be there asking him if he wanted to surrender, or did he want a forced nap.

She froze trying to prepare a proper greeting. Unfortunately, she waited too long. Without acknowledging her existence, Spider-man walked towards Thor.

The Unicorn said to herself, "Now don't tell me that he's starstuck by somebody else. Then again, Thor wasn't just a _somebody_."

Thor and the Spider-man shook hands and began to talk. She turned around to see Giant-man and Iron Man involved in their own conversation. She would have loved to introduce her soon-to-be boyfriend to her hero, which obviously required her to first introduce herself.

It took a while, but Iron Man finally turned away and appeared to be taking off. Yolanda rushed over there to pull Giant-man towards the red-and-blue crusader. Suddenly, the armored Avenger turned back to her beloved.

Darn it, they weren't going to talk again, were they? To her relief, Iron Man then took off.

Before he knew it, Giant-man was trying to catch his balance as Yolanda mightily tugged on his right arm.

"Come on, come on," Yolanda coached. "We've got to meet him."

"'We've got to meet who? Oh, him. Okay."

Thor had also departed. Possessing a hammer that allowed him to travel at a fantastic speed, his exposure would be nearly impossible. He could cover both the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges without the media shouting that a hero was patrolling along the East River. If the Thinker heard that and suspected something, he would turn to a back-up plan and no one wanted that to happen.

Without a distraction, Peter exhibited the politeness that his aunt taught him. He apologized for ignoring the new hero and greeted Giant-man.

Hank saw through her body language that Yolanda was impressed with the young hero. Maybe, she even had a crush. Be it as it may, she was going to be two years older than Peter in three weeks. Wait a minute. For all he knew, Betty Brant may have been 3 years older. Suddenly, Hank had a disturbing feeling.

Peter tried not to notice the Unicorn's hourglass figure. He was Betty's guy, plain and simple. Still, just as he stole peeks at the Fantastic Four's Sue Storm, he knew that his eyes would drift in her direction continually. Thank God that his mask covered his eye movements.

In a less hormonal note, Peter asked what was up with Giant-man and the Unicorn? Was she his new squeeze? Did he kick that less-than-disciplined Wasp to the curb? Well, he couldn't blame the Avenger, really.

Yolanda fought back nervousness and began, "So,… you had a conversation with Thor."

"Yeah, I think he'd be terrible at picture hanging, though. Imagine him putting a nail on a wall with that hammer? Man, the entire building would disintegrate."

Yolanda was pleasantly surprised to see that he had a sense of humor.

Giant-man intervened. There was no time for chit-chat and Spider-man had to know about the danger. Yolanda was glad that Hank did the talking. She was afraid that she would have said something stupid like, "Can I be around when you squash that Kraven character?"

He was Spider-man, after all. And considering that she didn't know him like she did Hank, he strangely made her insides fell like Jell-O.

And then it happened. She got to know ONE thing about him and the Jell-O turned into a heavy rock. Spider-man didn't like the idea of standing around waiting for something to happen. He called himself an "action guy."

His attitude, more than his words made Yolanda want to call him a _childish_ action guy. Good Lord, Hank was talking about bombings and deaths. This Spider-kid thought that being weighed down by a "tire around my neck" was more disastrous than explosions.

Spider-man continued by saying that being stationed inside of an unmarked van drinking coffee and eating donuts was better left to heroes on Social Security.

Hank felt deeply disappointed. Yes, in one hand, Peter was the typical youth in that he had a lot of restless energy. In reconsidering, to put upon him a yoke that required more maturity was unfair. On the other hand, any other teen who had his gifts, would've spent his time making money, driving slick cars, bedding girls and getting drunk. As a testimony to his selfless maturity, Peter fought to make the city safer.

Peter was a good, helpful, self-sacrificing 17-year-old boy; but a boy, none the less. He wanted chasing and fighting….. Or was that his only concern?

"Understand that the police have a _hands-off_ order from the Mayor. They would not be looking to arrest you if let your guard down." Giant-man then waited for a reaction.

Spider-man shook his head and said that it just wasn't something he could do. If on the other hand, he could just patrol the streets….

"The Fantastic Four already have that covered," the Unicorn spat out in annoyance. Spider-man said nothing for a while. Then he begrudgingly consented. But his attitude in relenting reinforced Yolanda's impression of him. And Hank couldn't afford a half-hearted endeavor.

"Listen— forget about it, Spider-man. I shouldn't have asked. Thor's speed will allow him to cover three bridges. Thanks—we'll see you around."

Now it would be a lie to say that the teenage adventurer didn't welcome being let off the hook, but he didn't feel proud, either. He started to apologize, but Hank cut him short. He put his arm around the Unicorn and they turned around. They were heading to the Triborough. There was work to do.

Giant-man asked his partner to activate the built-in communicator in her helmet. Yolanda was to ask Thor to move Captain America north to the 59th Street Bridge. Thor was asked to cover the Brooklyn, Manhattan AND the Williamsburg expanses.

As her mentor, Hank thought that she should get used to focusing on a mission even in the face of a disappointment.

They entered an unmarked police van with windows only in the front and back. As it took them north, Yolanda continued expressing shock over Spider-man's demeanor. Hank let her get it out.

Peter would always be valued in Hank's eye. But now, more than before, he was set against the prospect of Yolanda getting close to Peter. Peter wasn't a bad influence. It's just that Yolanda needed a matured supporter in her life. She needed someone who wouldn't be a drag on her if she followed a _boring_, but correct course.

Hank had a sad smile. He finally had a deeper appreciation for the stirring of Erica's protective nature when she saw him with Jan.

* * *

The Thinker was riding in the back seat of a government car. He preferred to be fashionably late, but it was obvious that he'd be in the courthouse 45 minutes before his 1 PM trail. The handcuffs were an unnecessary accessory to his grey suit and blue tie, but it was only temporary, he smirked. By 1:20 he would be walking out a free man.

It wasn't that his plan had holes, but he had an additional ace up his sleeve. Nobody knew that Flint Marko was going to be in that hallway outside of the court room. The Sandman was going to reciprocate a favor that was extended to him by the Thinker, when he engineered the meta-being's own prison escape. Marko was given a watch by one of the Thinker's former gang members. A signal reciever was built into that watch. If the Thinker had to make a quick getaway, the evil genius would press down on the class cover of his own time piece for 3 seconds and a ring would sing out from the Sandman's watch.

Marko would then break into the courtroom launching a quick tear-gas strike. As chaos ensued, the Sandman would whisk his benefactor out through the window. This action would only go into operation if his bomb-planting scheme fizzled. But of course, it won't. He was the Thinker, after all.

* * *

Flint Marko held a paper bag in the crock of his right arm. In the bag was a 12 X 18 inch box of Schraft's assorted chocolates. Inside the cellophane-wrapped red box were two thin containers of tear-gas. The candy box would easily pass the inspection at the courthouse's front door.

Marko knew that he had to make his way to the Thinker's trail in southern Manhattan. But that could wait another 15 minutes. He hadn't seen his darling Alexandra for so long.

The Sandman's ability included changing the appearance of his face. And so a recently balding man had his longer-than-usual nose nearly pressing against the wire fence looking at his little princess running and playing with the other first graders in the school yard. It was a pleasure that he allowed himself every day since his escape. He promised himself that one day he'll hold her tight and make up for lost time.

Marko was sure he'd get to the court room before the Judge's gravel sounded. In a few minutes he would walk the few blocks to hop a cab on Second Avenue. There were plenty of taxis around the Triborough Bridge section.

* * *

The isolated area by the Triborough Bridge had been underused for years. Trees and weeds were everywhere. Nature had fought and conquered man's attempt to cover her dirt ground; pavements and sidewalks retreated from various areas. Unlike the Bronx area where the Thinker had hid his toys, a good portion of the abandoned buildings were torn down. It made the awesome bridge look even more prominent.

The side door of the police van was open. Giant-man and the Unicorn sat on the floor of the vehicle with their feet on the rarely used street. The police isolated the area and it was a lovely day. Even if her armor prevented her from feeling the cooling breeze, Yolanda didn't want to stay inside of the vehicle.

She also didn't want to offer her soon-to-be boyfriend the packed sandwiches too early. But the attention she gave her conversation was divided, as she fretted over the condition of the food. Every so often, she would take off her glove and check if the sandwiches were still cool. Mayo plus heat equaled a terrible stomach reaction. To her surprise, they were.

The first White Rock delivery truck passed the Triborough. It was pulled over to where they were stationed. It was searched and let go.

Yolanda wanted to pet the two bomb-searching dogs, but they looked annoyed that they weren't let loose to play in the very pleasant day.

"The dogs look …. **_look_** annoyed?" Hank's question had a teasing tone.

Yolanda turned up her nose, saying, "If insects can talk to you, dogs can look annoyed to me. Ask anybody which of us sounded crazy."

Hank put up his hands in surrender. They watched the soda delivery truck go by and Hank shook his head. Yolanda asked if anything was wrong.

"Look at the White Rock logo. It's a fairy kneeing on the rock looking down into a pond."

Yolanda thought that he wanted her interpretation. She said that the fairy represented purity. Her purity translated to the water and that pure water went into the drink.

"Precisely," he said. "Look at the water below her face. It has rings, ripples. I never drank that soda as a kid; I thought that lousy fairy had spit into the water."

Yolanda fell backwards onto the van floor, laughing.

* * *

The teeth of 13 year-old Tabatha Smith dug savagely into the orange. Her hunger was so great that she could not wait to peel the fruit.

"Whoa there, Tabby," her new friend said. You need to slow up or you'll end up sick."

Tabatha looked up at her friend, Lorna, unconvinced that what she had said had merit. The girl's soiled hand wiped her chin of the sweet juice and her mouth spat out the peel. Her attention went back to the fruit.

Lorna Dane decided to leave her friend alone. The poor kid—she ran away from home because her father couldn't take her _uniqueness,_ as Lorna preferred to say. Living in the streets is hard on her. Lorna , though, had no problem with that. She ran away from the orphanage at the age of 11 and these past 6 years have taught her to be tough and self-reliant …..and a successful thief. But that's what it took to master her environment, she reasoned. And mastered she did, until three weeks ago and again this morning.

Almost a month ago, she was going around as she always did, fingering parking meters and retrieving coins from them with her uniqueness. Suddenly, in front of her stood this good-looking, but weird and pushy guy with white hair. He said that Lorna was lucky that he found her. Because of some future glorious day crap, he was taking her away with him.

Now Lorna didn't know this guy from Adam. No matter how cute he was, she wasn't going anywhere with anyone— least of all, a stranger. He didn't take "no" for an answer and he grabbed her arm. She swung her body into his and planted a knee that should have rung his ding-dong bells and make him sing alto for a month. Darn, her aim was off, but the hit to the lower abdomen still resulted in her escape.

She ran about a block, thinking that she was a safe distance from him. It was time to dart in and out of crowded sidewalks to further lose herself. She turned around to check if he had recovered. But darn if he wasn't where she left him. Okay, fine with her; she turned to continue her escape. And there he was.

He roughly grabbed her collar with both hands and said. "That was most unwise. Do not anger me, girl."—his eyes shifted left and right, noticing passer-bys looking at them— "I didn't come to make a scene in front of these maggots. I came to rescue you from your condition."

He turned his head to his right and jerked his head in a manner that sent a signal for another person to come over to them. This crazy guy had a partner. Well, Lorna didn't want to be rescued and as far as her condition, she could control her world. Whitey, on the other hand, offered no promise of freedom where he was planning to take her. The fact that he was forcibly restraining her sent her mind screaming CHAINS! Sooo…

It was morning and metal trash containers were by the curb waiting to be emptied into garbage trucks. Correction: they were waiting to meet Whitey's head. Lorna flicked the index and middle fingers of her right hand and POW!

The metal lids flew off due to the impact. Lorna again used her talent to ride one of them away like a surfboard. Her magnetic powers enabled her retreat much faster than her legs could have.

**_Her condition_**, in deed. She always had a bed and bath at any of three Salvation Army Shelters. She had enough money to pay a regular to pose as her mom, thereby preventing a nosey shelter attendant's call to police about a "runaway." And her powers allowed her take clothes and food from anywhere.

That incident happened in the West 40's side of Manhattan. She never went back to the Hell's Kitchen area. She stayed north— not going too far from Columbia University's Upper West Side Campus vicinity.

Everything was okay until she met Tabby this morning. Lorna instinctively looked across the street and she found the blonde girl. Her eyes were wide and she was looking everywhere trying to decide where to go. Lorna knew the signs of a rookie on the streets and had pity on her.

Tabby's story left Lorna with admiration for the girl's moxie. She had somehow stowed away in the baggage compartment of a greyhound bus. The last stop was the Port Authority Terminal by the Washington Bridge.

After their talk, Lorna had left the girl on a park bench to get her breakfast. When she came back, Tabatha had company. There was a gorgeous, well-dressed brunette sitting by her, holding Tabatha's hands in a comforting way. And then there was Whitey standing before them.

The woman in the classy white blouse and dark slacks seemed upset with the jerk; to which Lorna remarked to herself, "Gee, what a surprise." The look on Tabby's face was of fear. There were plenty of metal trash receptacles in the park— the metal mesh type— so what happened next shouldn't have been surprising.

With both adults down, she took Tabby's arm and ran. Lorna always had coins that she _borrowed_. She dodged into the first bus that opened its door and off they rode. Unfortunately, Lorna also abandoned the food.

Lorna picked seats that were away from other riders. She found out that Tabatha was given the same B.S. about being rescued and that her power would be a key to usher in a future kingdom.

And what was her "power"?

"I can make this light, this globe," Tabatha whispered to her new pal. "I was just playing with one when they came over. But the globes aren't for playing, really. If I throw one, it explodes as strongly as any hand grenade. Not that I've ever thrown a hand grenade, but …"

Well hey, that was welcome news in the event that they met the terrible twosome again. 25 minutes later, the two girls were on the other side of upper Manhattan, sitting under the shadow of the Triborough Bridge. They had a new collection of food. Lorna had all day to find her way back to one of the Salvation Army Centers to settle the both of them in. Right now it was time to eat and find some fun.

Had Lorna put two and two together, she would have figured out that their confrontations with the would-be kidnappers came immediately after they made use of their powers. If she had made the connection as to how they were found, she wouldn't have**_ borrowed_** more coins from parking meters and storefront gumball dispensers to buy the late breakfast. As it so happened, a car slowly rolled to a stop at a corner, a distance away. The two inhabitants of the car were not there to sightsee.

* * *

He reached his Forest Hills, Queens home quickly thanks to his web-swinging. Still wearing his Spider-man pants, Peter Parker was sitting on his bed looking at his downcast reflection in the mirror of his dresser.

He had his mega-bucks hidden securely under his underwear inside of the second to top drawl of his upright chest. Peter got in without anyone seeing Spider-man swinging around the neighborhood. Aunt May was out, probably with Mrs. Watson, so he didn't have to explain why he wasn't in school. Everything was looking up for the teen. He couldn't remember the last time that happened.

So why was he feeling awful? He didn't bother asking a second time, because he knew. He turned around to get his hero costume shirt from the foot of his bed. Spider-man was heading to the Triborough to tell Giant-man that he was **_in_**… even if the big guy objected. The youth was going to take any location that needed to be filled. Besides, since when did taking the free coffee and donuts that were offered to him become a sin?

* * *

Tabatha had eaten well and she was going to start on her dessert— watermelon. Lorna stopped her own munching when she saw her young pal freeze.

"What's wrong?"

The 13-year-old pointed to a black Ford Crown Victoria a distance away. "That's the car that those two guys came out of to take me away."

Probably not, but Lorna wasn't going to take chances. They moved fast. The girls noticed a police presence on the other side of the bridge. No one had ever caught Lorna stealing, so they cops weren't looking for a girl fitting her description. They would stay close to the poilce for a while until they figured out a plan to get out of there.

They made it to the other side and they decided to sit down closer to the men in blue. As they walked, they heard a whizzing behind them. Maybe they shouldn't have stopped to turn around and look, but they acted on nervous impulse. They saw nothing. But on the ground before them, their two shadows were joined by two more.

"Let's stop this nonsense. You're both coming with me. And don't plan of using your magnetic powers, girl. I'm prepared for you now."

"Well, well— if it isn't my pal, Whitey. What's the matter, even the sewer rats wanted better company?"

A moan from their left made the girls turn. Evidently, the guy also brought his female pal with him. She didn't look too good. She walked away from them, bent over. Guess traveling faster that sound didn't agree with her.

"Wanda", he called after her. She asked to be left alone for a minute. The girls thought that she was probably his girlfriend, because he was walking towards her all concerned and he seemed to have forgotten them.

Then Whitey yelled over his shoulder, warning them to stay put because they couldn't outrun him. But the girls tried anyway. They screamed as they charged towards the police vehicles.

* * *

A distance away from police personnel, Hank and Yolanda were still sitting on the floor of the van with their feet on the cracking black top. She finally figured out why the Wizard's anti-gravity disk seemed so familiar.

She asked, "Were you and Mr. Stark collaborating with Mr. Wittman?"

Henry shook his head angrily, "If we had known that we were in a race, we'd have finished the project long ago."

"Don't feel bad. I took a nonchalant attitude towards finishing the Unicorn horn. I guess we both stand to improve our focus. You help me and I'll help you."

His warm smile encouraged her to finally spring the surprise on her Prince Charming. Yolanda took out the sandwiches from her bag.

"I come prepared," she told her the sandy-haired hunk.

Giant-man replied with a bigger smile, "What can I say? You're wonderful. Donuts have their limited appeal, if you're an adult."

She unwrapped the plastic covering for him and then stopped. She feared that perhaps Henry would feel like she was babying him. But that wasn't the case.

"Okay, did you bring them just to show them to me, or am I allowed to eat?"

His appreciation was better than she had anticipated. Henry told her how caring and valuable she was. Just as her heart soared, he put up his hand and asked for a minute of silence.

Her heartthrob looked away towards nothing. Now, it couldn't be that his cybernetic sensors were scanning the area for his little friends. He did that a while ago, noting that the chunked-out pavements and the shrubbery close to the river were perfect for ant colonies. He also found two wasp nests on trees that were a distance apart from each other. As he told Yolanda Friday— two days before he told Jan, she was happy to say— he had arrived at a frequency to assemble wasps and attack a perceived danger. As if yet, Henry couldn't control them as well as he could the ants; but in a limited way, he had the wasps' respectful compliance. Hmm, Yolanda mused. Only in the insect world could the words **_respectful_** and **_Wasp _**go together.

She was curious as to what was happening, but the young genius respected Henry's request. He flashed two quick frowns and suddenly he came back to her world.

"Yollie, sweetie, I have to apologize. Remember when we spoke about your father's Cerebro project and how it was commissioned by Charles Xavier to find mutants? I never told you that Charles was also a mutant and he has the gift of mental telepathy. He searched me out just now. He must be very far away because his voice entered my brain in a low volume."

Yolanda didn't know if she should consider this as a joke or if he was losing his mind. Still, out of her great admiration for Henry, she chose to go along.

He said, "Turn your communicator to channel 4. We're going to intercept a call directed to the penthouse on the Ant-man line."

Instantly, the earpieces heard a ringing and then Giant-man answered. Henry knew the caller— Scott Summers.

The caller said, "As he no doubt told you, the Professor is tracking down a menace who calls himself Lucifer. Professor X was on an airliner heading for Europe when he asked me to contact you."

That made Giant-man wonder: was Xavier really on the phone an hour ago when he lent three X-men to the case? Perhaps he used telepathy then also.

"He tells me that Cerebro is very active," Giant-man said.

"Strong signals are coming from the area where you are posted, sir. We're looking at one Level D, one C and four As. One of the A's we know is the Blob. You know him, as well. He is resigned to stay a circus performer, so there is no alarm there. The second is as unknown as are the D and C.

"The last two A's are trouble. They are members of a mutant supremacy group calling themselves the Brotherhood. One is a young male, 5-11, white hair, athletic built. His name is Pietro Maximoff by birth, and Quicksilver as an operative. As his code name indicates, he possesses blinding speed.

"The other is a less-hostile— his sister, Wanda. She is a young, brunette, 5-7. She goes by The Scarlet Witch. Obviously, with an outstretched hand, she can cause _accidents._

"Walking among non-mutants like this, and invading other mutants' space means they're recruiting. Being less aggressive, the female should be open if you ask her to stand down.

"You may convince her, where we cannot. The X-men have a history of confrontation with the Brotherhood and she would look at our words of reconciliation with suspicion.

"The brother and sister have shown reluctance to blindly follow the Brotherhood. They have a very strained relationship with the leader of the group, Magneto. Win her confidence and she can turn back the hot tempered Quicksilver. Hopefully, you can even get them to defect.

"At any rate, Ice man is being sent to you. As an X-man, he has had experience with those two and he'll help if things get ugly."

That was fine with Henry Pym. He understood that posting one X-man at the George Washington Bridge invited cowardly attacks from a mob of anti- mutant bigots— but three? The Angel and Marvel Girl were formable enough in Giant-man's assessment.

Yolanda's was impressed with Henry's intriguing web of connections. She was also grateful that he wanted to share some integrities of her father's invention.

When the phone conversation ended, Hank explained that all mutants appeared in Cerebro's sensors as little Christmas lights in the dark. The dimmer lights indicated those who rarely, if ever, use their powers. Many of these may not even know that they are specially gifted. The brightest lights— the "A" level— represented the alpha mutants. They exercise their powers with great frequency.

Suddenly, they heard high pitched screams coming from behind the van. Yolanda jumped up.

Giant-man smiled, "Go ahead, Miss Heroine. Take charge." Referring to the half-eaten sandwich, he added, "I'll wait for you. I don't want to eat alone."

The youthful screams didn't seem threatening to Hank. They were probably playing or arguing. He stayed by the van giving the Unicorn enough time to handle the excitement. Maybe these youths would eventually become the founders of The Unicorn Fan Club.

Yolanda playfully curtsied and then lifted off. In three seconds, she landed in front of the running girls. They stopped about fifteen paces from her and their eyes bulged with fear.

"Another one?" Tabatha screamed.

Before The Unicorn responded, a white-haired man magically appeared within the space that separated her from the two girls.

He snarled, "This is no concern of yours. Get back to whatever you were doing." He turned to the girls. The armored figure noticed that the youngest girl's face increased in panic.

"I say it is," the Unicorn replied. "I don't know who you are, but you better leave these girls alone."

Lorna was considering her own plan of defense, but Tabatha instinctively yelled, "Help us!"

Tabatha was nervously shifting her weight from one foot to another. A yellow orb with an orange outer glow was hovering between her hands.

The man silently turned in a slow and confident manner back to the Unicorn. His scowling face disappeared and suddenly the Unicorn was pushed by something invisible from the right and then from the left. Yolanda fell.

He reappeared in front of her saying, "That's only a sample of what you'll get if you interfere. I won't warn you a second time. Get out of here."

Lorna saw that her rescuer needed rescuing so she put her index finger and middle finger together.

The Unicorn supported herself on her knees and left hand. Quicksilver thought her right hand was half-way raised in surrender. The Unicorn regretfully shook her head, "Well everyone knows when they've met their match."

The surrendering hand was actually aiming her repulsor at the unpaved, dirt ground in front of her assailant.

"But I haven't met mine, yet." In an instant, dirt flew into the speedster's face.

The slim-muscled man reached for his eyes. The angry heroine decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. At a low intensity, her repulsor sent the snow-top jerk bouncing away.

The Unicorn grabbed the two girls by their waists and flew toward the van where Giant-man waited. Both girls would have asked how she did that, but the joy of finding an ally pushed back any questions.

They landed by the van just as Giant-man was turning the corner of the vehicle to see what Yolanda was doing.

"I found Quicksilver," She said with mixed alarm and anger. "The big, brave man was terrorizing these girls."

Both girls recognized the hero's uniform. Lorna felt a great sense of relief, but it was Tabatha who charged and gave him with a frightened hug.

Giant-man's growing anger stopped mid-way to accept the girl's embrace. Police were attending a second White Rock delivery truck that was coasting to a stop at the inspection area. Giant-man called over two police men and charged them to draw their guns.

* * *

Spider-man arrived at the Triborough. He didn't have to look long to find four late model luxury cars, six police cars, four vans and one bomb unit truck close to the East River's edge. The area had street lamps and a fire hydrant, but it was much neglected. The sidewalk and blacktop roadway fought with the ground underneath it for dominance of the surface. " Isolated area for the bomb search" fit the description.

All of a sudden, the crimson figure of the tree-size Giant-man appeared to his left, nearly a block away. Spider-man headed in that direction. He landed on the roof of the green soda truck. Police dogs barked their surprise over the newcomer. That was okay, he didn't plan to stay there. He was about to leap forward towards Giant-man when he stopped.

Was the big lug struggling to keep his balance? What was happening? His concern for the giant was interrupted by a strong alert coming from his spider-sense.

It was aimed at the driver's cabin underneath him. A cop was on the driver's side of the truck. The officer's eyes were shifting between Spider-man and the protesting driver.

The nervous driver not only refused to open the side cargo bays of his truck for the inspection, but he had no intention of getting out of the cab.

* * *

All the way down Second Avenue the residual effects of the marijuana was having its way with Zhi Ming Xu.

He was sure that everyone was out to get him. The American, Posey, had a plastic smile that exposed the lie. In truth, Posey hated him. The two armed guards who were in the front seat were jealous of him. Why else was he sitting in that cargo area of the box truck?

He'll show them, he'll show them all. He wasn't just a little kid that they could take advantage off. He looked back at the mechanical powerhouse that sat against the right wall of the truck. He could get into it right now and show these two goons that he wasn't to be trifled with. Yes he could. He slid off of his seat and approached the strapped-down behemoth.

* * *

Spider-man saw the circle of cops closing in. To the questioning officer, the driver's fear was strengthening, but not because of the blue uniforms that were converging, nor the thump that he heard on the roof when Spider-man landed.

The driver kept looking at his "helper." This unemotional man was looking straight ahead. Even as two officers were approaching his window from the right, he didn't surrender his hypnotic stare. The driver's angry refusals had completely turned into frightened pleas to let the truck go through.

The youthful adventurer atop the truck was motioning with his hands for the officers to back away. But the cop who was questioning the driver had forgotten Spider-man's presence. He yanked open the door. He elbowed the truck driver away and took the ignition key.

The officer stepped away and again demanded that both men come out. This time the cop had his hand on his holstered gun. Hearing the determination of the angry policeman, the silent rider's head slowly turned to the cop.

The panicky driver looked at the silent man and then he turn back to the cop. The driver pulled the door closed, and yelled through tears, "**_Pleeease,_** let us go."

The officer on the driver's side pulled out his revolver. Spider- man senses went wild. The frightened man again looked at the _helper _beside him. When that second man moved, the driver crunched himself, elbows against his chest, hands behind his head.

The driver let out a blood-curdling scream. Instinctively, Spider-man shot a web onto the officer and with a mighty one-handed tug, flung him to the back of the truck. In the space of half a second, the heroic youth got on his knees in an attempt to look through the windshield. Before he could do that, the horrific scream ended with a thunderous sound.

The entire truck shook. The driver and the door flew into the police men who were coming to the aid of the first cop. Spider-man couldn't believe his eyes. Injured policemen were on the ground many yards from where they first stood. The driver and the door were still skidding on the ground.

Spider-man saw the powerful man leap out of the car from the opening he had created and calmly walk towards the main street, Second Avenue. He was about to pounce on him when the other policemen opened fire on the man. They had positioned themselves behind their cars anticipating return fire, but the man had no weapons.

Spider-man jumped away fearing the possibility of a stray bullet finding him. The bullets bounced ineffectually off the silent figure. He turned back to the 8-ton White Rock truck and hoisted it in the air. The police scattered, as the truck landed on their vehicles.

* * *

"Giant-Man," Clint Barton exclaimed as he looked over the arms dealer's shoulder and saw the behemoth magically appear. The dealer turned and ran, saying, "He's on to us."

The archer knew better. The giant appeared unsteady, drugged. Hey, wouldn't this impress his beloved Natasha. Clint could move in and polish off one of Iron Man's Avengers buddy. Yeah, that would score high with her. Then he'd go after metal-britches later. Clint opened his trunk and took what appeared to be a golf club bag out. _Yep,_ he thought, _this is going to be sweet!_

* * *

As the white cargo truck ascended the Second Avenue ramp to the Triborough, Xu was already inside of the mechanical man planning his surprise. But the guards' wild exclamations gave evidence that they looked upon another surprise.

Xu had bent the mechanical man's waist to allow him a better look through the windshield. Blocks away they saw the America hero, Giant-man. At a monstrous size, he was holding his head, appearing ill.

What a perfect opportunity to show the guards, to show the world that Zhi Ming Xu was a champion of Champions. He would be crossed by no one.

The second shouts from the guards came as the motorized man-thing tore through the roof and sides of the truck as if they were tissue paper.

* * *

His car window was rolled halfway down. As he came to the ramp leading to the Triborough Bridge, Arthur Shapiro heard gunfire. Forgetting who was sleeping in the back seat, he screamed "What is that?"

Paul Duval snapped up to a sitting position. A white delivery truck suddenly exploded in front of them. Gun fire was heard. From the right side of the windshield, Duval saw Giant-man and a flying green truck more than three quarters of a mile away. His eyes somehow didn't stay on the shattered truck as Arthur swerved around and in front of it.

His still dazed mind made the foggy connection between the explosion, the gunfire, the sight of Thor's ally— Giant-man— and a flying truck…. THOR HAD FOUND HIM!

Duval took off the blue rubber gloves form his hands. He touched his face and and moved a hand into his shirt. He was instantly transformed into a statute. It was too much for Arthur. The attorney slammed the brakes to stop the car and screamed like a little girl.

* * *

It was also too much for Frederick "The Blob" Dukes. 30 minutes ago he had asked his pal Swen to detour from their route. He wanted to stop off at a Second Avenue deli that he knew about.

Now, Swen and Fred's eyes widened when they saw what looked like a flying soda truck three blocks away. Curiosity overtook Dukes. He handed his shopping bag with seven deli sandwiches and ten Pepsi Colas to his pal.


	21. Chapter 21:A Nightmare While Still Awake

Chapter 21: A Nightmare While Still Awake

11:43 AM:

Jan Van Dyne had put on casual, but neat clothes. It was a toss-up between revealing and alluring versus contrite and sincere. Low neckline and short shorts lost because of the behavior that led to this mess.

She knocked on Hank's bedroom door. No answer. She expected that— it was close to noon. Labs A, B and C were the next choices.

She dashed down the steps and called to Hank through the first laboratory door.

"He's not here," Delfina said calmly from behind Jan. The cleaning lady was pushing a small laundry cart. The labs were her first clean laundry drop-offs.

Jan opened the door and looked in.

"Evidently, you don't believe me," Del said with a hint of anger. "I have no reason to lie to you."

Jan closed the door and turned to her. She gave the older woman a _don't- bother-me _look. Jan then relaxed her features and replied, "No, of course you don't."

Del thought nothing of her verbal reply. But that face that Jan had made was burned into Del's head like a cowboy would brand a steer. Delfina turned the cart around and walked briskly away. She could deliver the rest of the white lab coats later. At that point, the offended woman didn't want to answer the question that she knew was coming from that rude Van Dyne woman.

But Del's old legs weren't quick enough.

Jan asked behind the cleaning lady, "Where is he?"

Delfina Gilbert waited until she was close to a turn in the hallway that she had to take in order to deliver other laundry items. She then replied, "Out."

"Out where?"

"To meet team mates, I believe," the Polish woman said before disappearing behind the bend in the hall.

Delfina's anger surprised even her. Maybe some of Brygitka's resentment was rubbing off on her. When she simmered down, she'd apologies to Jan … only not now.

She heard Jan coming up quickly behind her and Del let out an annoyed sigh.

"Where is Hank meeting them? Why is he going there? Exactly what did he tell you?" The woman's tone reminded the 57-year-old of the Gestapo who had frequently harassed her when the Nazis occupied Poland twenty years ago. Del suppressed her indignation.

Delfina also smothered the inner fire that urged her to snap back, "Maybe he needed help meeting a nice girl who wouldn't spit in his face with her lewd behavior." The other option was to tell her about the mission. Del didn't know the details, other than the man whom they called the Mad Thinker was going to employ dangerous outside helpers to walk out of the court a free man.

The woman stopped and turned to meet Jan's eyes. Del expressed her regrets that Dr. Pym was on an assignment that was not made clear to her.

Why should she tell this rude woman more than that? Then and there, she was rooting hard for Yolanda to land her prize. As the woman of the house, Yolanda could send this _dog's rear _packing.

Thankfully, Jan stormed away. _Humphh, _Del thought. Jan was lucky that it wasn't Brygitka that she offended.

* * *

12:08 PM:

The dominoes were put into place and they were all falling down. One fall was totally out of the blue, though.

Giant-man was enraged when he heard that Quicksilver had attempted to kidnap the two girls who the Unicorn brought to him. He ordered the girls into the police van and set two policemen with ready pistols by the vehicle. He then shot up to seventy feet. It was about twice as big as he had planned. Anger had beaten down his caution. When Giant-man took a step forward, his head began to spin.

"Dehydration," his mind yelled. The same problem that he had last night wasn't solved. At breakfast he again allowed his emotions to take over; upset with Brygitka's constant push to get rid of Jan, he only drank half of his orange juice before he stormed out of the kitchen.

_Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!_ What an idiot he was. He kept his feet apart to prevent falling over and hurting anyone. The worried Unicorn flew up to his face. Before she could speak, Giant-man just went down to 15 feet and lunged forward. Giant-man steadied himself on his hands and knees. His ally came back to the ground.

He answered her question with, "No, nothing major. Just need to stop for a minute."

The Unicorn searched the terrain for the white-haired antagonist. She only saw what she surmised to be an unwise, dark haired, female curiosity-seeker jogging towards them. Or was this far-from-intimidating woman the Scarlet Witch? Yolanda would deal with her, if she was. Right now, Henry was her chief concern.

Her second question as to how she could help him was drowned out by a quick series of horrible sounds consisting of a hair-electrifying yell, a crash and then gun fire.

The Unicorn was conflicted when Giant-man requested that she investigate the sounds. Henry appeared too vulnerable to leave alone. But her inner division was forgotten due to closer threat. Something banged against the other side of the van. The Unicorn turned around and she saw a gun slide away from the front tire of the van and skim across the badly cracked blacktop. In an instant, a policeman was speedily rolling away on the same blacktop, in the same direction.

Before the officer's momentum ceased, the heroic duo heard a cry of pain.

"I'm okay," Giant-man said in a stronger voice. "Go."

The new heroine made it to the other side of the van to see a hatless policeman bent over in pain. The creep known as Quicksilver was standing upright, in front of the officer. The mutant's face was ablaze with disgust. Yolanda hadn't seen this much repugnance in a face since she had landed on these shores.

Quicksilver grabbed the rear of the collar and the back of the officer's belt. He quickly flung the policeman to the ground, face first.

With a merciless look, the speedy mutant angrily slid the side door open. The girls screamed. Yolanda raised her right hand. At that instant, he looked her way. Was he going to use his speed to duck? … NOPE!

In a struck of luck that perhaps could not be counted upon again, the "Zzzt" from her repulsor resulted in the forceful bouncing retreat of the white-haired villain for a second time. But she wasn't _that_ lucky. She had forgotten to increase the intensity of the repulsion from their first meeting. The fact that he reappeared with only a smudge-worn face, having dirt and tears on different parts of his shirt and pants proved that she needed an extra surge to put him out of action. He'd be back, for sure.

She ran to the entrance of the van door. "Stay here" The Unicorn told the girls. "I swear on my life, I won't let him get you." This time, she checked the illuminated digitry under her helmet's eye slits. It read above ".0021"— that was about one horse power. That was way more than what she needed to slide the door close. But it was way too little to safeguard the girls from the ultra-rapid jerk and protect Hank from whatever caused the police to use their firearms.

With the words, "Strength output increase 39.5," the Unicorn attained the strength of two bulldozers. More than enough to knock down a city block's worth of buildings and still keep her battery on extended life. She moved several paces away from the van.

"Okay, Speedy Gonzalez," she sneered. "Let's go for round three."

* * *

Captain America was prepared for the worst. Worst _big_, not worst _small_.

He was posted inside of the isolated section of the Continental Army Plaza by the Williamsburg Bridge. Cap didn't like the Idea of searching and dismantling bombs so close to the large statue of George Washington on a horse. Respecting his wishes, the police moved their inspection unit closer to the East River. Effectively, it would be a shorter distance for the employment of a small carrier-rocket made by Starks Industries. If the Bomb Squad could not disarm the bomb, Cap was going to place it inside of the 10-foot long carrier-rocket, launch it by remote control and drop if in the river.

Police Officer Melvin Marotta was on the 90th Precinct's Motorcycle Division. He was commanded to relieve another officer who was posted in the park where the bomb squad and Captain America were positioned. His motorcycle was nowhere near breaking the motorbike speed record, as he wasn't thrilled to be stationed along side of any stuff shirt Superhero. For years, Officer Marotta thought that those glamour boys didn't know a thing about getting into the gutter and fighting real criminals. The more he read about their exploits and the subsequent civilian adoration, the more resentment he felt towards those costumed clowns.

As it so happened, he was slowly, begrudgingly, making his way to Captain America from the south side, the tree-lined side of the park. As it also so happened, the words _accidental slip_ are not limited to describing a human predicament.

The cop was close enough to spot the star-spangled bozo from a distance. Trying not to sneer, Marotta reduced his already slow speed. And that was fortunate for a furry tree-climber who had lost his grip and was heading for a hard landing on the street.

Suddenly Marotta's angular police hat fell off to the side. In its place was a frightened squirrel. If that wasn't enough to scare the hardened cop, the animal's sharp claws were digging into the top of his head and right ear. Marotta's embarrassing alto squeals further scared the squirrel. The animal released his little body's tension with a chomp on that same ear.

Now if this had happened to a red, white and blue stuff shirt pseudo-hero with years of problem-solving on his side, he would have simply stopped and allowed the scared creature to hop off.

With the furry tail covering Marotta's eyes, its rear legs swiftly moving in a circular movement and scratching the left side of his neck and ear (thereby drawing blood), and his right ear being used as a teething ring. Marotta screamed louder and he almost lost his voice. In full panic-mode, his foot instinctively pressed on the accelerator.

" Get-it-off! Get-it-off! Get-it-off!" the other officers thought they heard over the roar of the motorcycle. It was hard to tell because it was so fast and so high pitched. They turned towards the direction of the speeding motorcyclist who was heading their way. The cops scrambled in different directions.

Cap bounded over the policemen's heads attempting to mount the apparent runaway cycle.

_ It had to be a mechanical malfunction_, the Avenger thought. But as the motorcycle zoomed its way closer, Cap spotted the problem. He lunged forward at the bike as he suppressed a laugh. It swerved and he missed. The cycle continued on and hit a cement-based park bench.

The cycle went skyward, the squirrel shot forward at bullet-speed, and Marotta slid and bounced horizontally along the cement ground.

To everyone's additional horror, the motorcycle that was somersaulting 35 feet in the air was coming down on the cyclist. A flashing thought spread throughout the onlookers: _Marotta was as good as dead_. But one person who was present disagreed.

Determined not to be late this time, Cap performed his own sliding in to home (so-to-speak). He reached the fallen officer. In the space of three quarters of a second, Cap stood over Marotta. He raised his shield. He braced his legs and prepare for the worst. In the next half second, the full force of a descending 350 pounds met his shield.

The bike bounced off and skidded to a stop forty feet away from the mound that was the stuff shirt and Marotta.

The sound of stampeding shoes erupted around them. Cap pushed against the hard ground to raise himself and to see the condition of the officer. With face blooded and uniformed tattered, Marotta looked up to his savior.

He gasped as he saw an angel coming down to him.

He cried in a shaky voice, "Am I dead?"

It wasn't Cap's word that assured him that he wasn't. When the _angel_ came close enough, he saw the red cape flowing freely. The wings on the descending figure were only on his metal helmet, not on his back. A great relief overcame him. It was followed by the shakes in realizing what he had gone through.

Heads with police hats encircled his peripheral vision, but Marotta only focused on the red, white and blue stuff shirt in front of him. As if from a distance, the officer finally heard Cap ask about his welfare. Marotta's lips were trembling, but finally they surrendered a squeaky, "You're my hero."

* * *

To the northwest, the Grey Gargoyle took tremendous jumps over the cars that were attempting to enter the Manhattan ramp of the Triborough Bridge. Arriving at street level, he repeated his feat. They weren't as impressive as the Hulk's almost mile-high leaps. They looked a lot like Spider-man's signature jumps. … and they were almost as fast.

He dashed towards the area where he had seen the enormous Avenger. The Gargoyle found himself in a scene where police were shooting at some tall fool. The man didn't go down, but that wasn't the Grey Gargoyle's concern. He was looking for Thor.

He didn't find the golden-haired Thunder Master, but he did spot his fallen alley. The plan was clear: Get to Giant-man while he was on all fours. Wrap his tremendously strong arm around the giant's neck, without turning him to stone. The American buffoon will then cry out for help, and then _WA-LA_. Thor will come to his aid… and into the Gargoyle's grasp.

The powerful grey figure leaped through the line of fire in his attempt to reach Giant-man. Police bullets didn't give him pause. The shells would have less luck penetrating his body than they had against their taller target.

* * *

Giant-man saw a woman racing towards him and the van. What in blazes was she doing? He was attempting to stand when he shouted, "Stand back, ma'am."

She extended one hand in his direction and shouted back, "No! You stand back."

In a display of awkwardness that he could not remember since he was an eight-year-old learning to ice skate, Henry Pym's legs intertwined and he fell forward. His hands prevented his face from smashing against the pavement.

He looked up at her. Hank rolled one cheek as a light turned on in his brain's memory lobe. "Oh, yeah… The Scarlet Witch."

* * *

The cop who first confronted the delivery truck driver ran in front of the advancing juggernaut. This powerful stranger had just tossed the truck at the line of gun-firing cops.

If not for the seriousness of the event, one would have laughed at the tail of webbing that followed behind him.

"Stop or I'll shot," he yelled.

Spider-man was on a lamppost looking down on the scene, from behind the strong menace.

Referring to the policeman, he asked himself, "Is this guy crazy? Didn't he just see what happened when the others emptied their pistols on the guy?"

But his criticism was cut to pieces when he saw the officer's eyes. He was scared— _underwear-staining_ scared. But there he was, half crying, believing he was going to die and still he was staring down the threat. If there was ever a picture of courage, that was it. Peter's heart swelled with pity and admiration.

He determined that with all his being that this cop was going to return to the embrace of his wife and kids tonight.

Peter took his trusty camera from his hero-belt and set the timer. He attached his special stretchy webbings to the sides of it, released more webs so that it hung off the tree and wrapped the other end around his right pinky. He threw the camera up so that it would take a bird's eye view of Spider-man tackling the powerhouse.

His senses were tingling again, but he assumed that it was due to the situation that was before his eyes. Spider-man shot a web towards the brute's leg to trip him up. Instead, something quick and fast rocketed through the air and intercepted the web-shot.

The momentum took Spider-man by surprise and pulled him off of the lamppost. He landed on the ground, unhurt, but uncoordinated. He looked up to see a grey statue some forty yards aw- _NO WAIT!_ It wasn't a grey statue. It was moving!

Spider-man stretched to his right to catch the falling camera without looking. He was transfixed on his unintended target.

The grey thing looked back at him and cursed in a foreign language. Heck, Peter took Spanish in High School— what in blazes did he know what the thing said.

This stony thing mightily pulled on the webbing to hurl Spider-man towards him. Wow, the man-stone was strong. But the youth had been in too many battles to allow himself to become a punching bag. Suddenly, the reoccurring gunfire from the brave policeman echoed all around Spider-man. That man-brute was doing something. Spider-man would eventually get there, but right now the youth was in the middle of his own mess.

The teenaged hero's flight towards the grey thing was in an arch. That allowed enough time for Peter to throw the camera to his left with his right hand spray a web onto the creature's eyeswith his left.

The man-stone began clearing the web from his face. Spider-man landed with his hands on the ground before the creature. Spider-man's back was towards his opponent. Using the momentum of his flight, his curled legs spun over the top and in front of him. Spider-man kicked up with all his might. That sent the stone-guy flying, but _DAAAMN_, it also hurt Peter's feet.

Again he retrieved the camera that was racing back to him.

The teen ignored his pain to race back to the cop and the strongman. Well, he actually tip-toed during his run.

* * *

"We gotta get out." Lorna told her young pal.

"No, the metal woman said stay here. She'll fight for us and keep us safe."

"I'm glad that you have faith in the broad, but I think she could be a drunken left-over from a masquerade party. In other words, she's going to get her a – s handed to her by Whitey."

"You're wrong. How do you explain her sending him flying away? How do you explain her flying us her? How do you explain Giant-man being her pal?"

"Good point," Lorna said while nodding. "But I think we can help metal-panties win if we're outside."

"How"

"You start making those crazy light-thingies that explode."

"Come on, he's too fast. I can't nail him."

"No, but between us and the armored girl, one of us will get in a lucky shot. I never lifted anything as heavy as a van before, but you saw what I can do with metal. I'll use this van, you throw your explosives, the metal broad does whatever she does to make him look a human basket ball and we'll get through this."

Tabatha looked away in thought. She then turned to her friend after she found another factor which Tabatha could use for a new argument against Lorna's idea. But the door had already swung opened and she had hopped out.

"Get out, Tabby. You don't want to be in there when I start playing baseball."

"Baseball?"

"Yeah, he's the ball and you're sitting inside my bat."

* * *

Clinton Barton opened his golf club bag in a secluded place, close to the action. The mask that he had hastily stuffed into his back pocket came out. He pulled it over his face. Next, he dug into his golf club bag to take out his torso piece. Finally, he brought out his arrows and quiver case. The plastic case was folded in half . Unfolded, the case would take up most of his back. There were 18 arrows in each of the two halves of the quiver. Each had a special weaponry head. It was by the feel of the markings on the feathered ends that he knew which arrow he was drawing out of the quiver.

He put on the black and rose-purple torso attire. Then he secured the quiver on his back with the shoulder straps.

Clint didn't have the pants and boots to go with his mask and torso covering. But who cared? He was still Hawkeye, the master bowman. From this day on he'd be known as Hawkeye, the Giant-Slayer. Before the week's end he'll also be Hawkeye, the Iron Man Destroyer. And maybe in a month's time, he'd have knocked off all the Avengers.

And won't the lovely Natasha Romanov just gobble him up? Oh, yeah. With her at his side, he was ready to be the number one terrorist in the world. Nations would pay a heavy ransom to keep him outside of their borders.

It was show time, now. As he hid and advanced towards his target, Clint had only one problem facing him. Should he kill Giant-man with a grenade arrow, or would an acid-caring arrow to the neck be better? The piercing arrowhead would destroy his breathing ability. And if not, no one could survive pure acid dripping into his neck, lungs, and stomach. Hmm, good choice. Hawkeye may need all his explosive arrows to escape if he was discovered.

* * *

He wasn't going to fight a female. Giant-man had his palms opened in front of him. "Miss Maximoff, we don't have to fight. I know you don't want that and neither do I."

Henry Pym figured that his body language and his words could open up the woman to a truce. Indeed, she stopped in her tracks.

"How did you know my name," she asked with wide eyes.

"From a friend."

Her eyes narrowed, "What mutual friend would you and I have? Tell me now. HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!"

_Okay, that was a bust_, Hank said to himself.

"Please listen. Maybe you don't consider my source as your friend, and maybe I never will meet that standard either. But I think we can help each other avoid conflict. And I know that I can help you escape Magneto and live a quieter life if that is your wish."

"You know a lot about me. I'll ask one more time."

"I'll answer, but not because of any threat. It's because, given a choice, you and I want to take the same road…. Cyclops, from the X-men, told me about you and your brother.

Her eyes widened again. "You are an ally of the X-men?"

"Though they keep me in the dark most of the time, for my part, I have to say yes. I will also say yes if we can meet at a nonviolent settlement. But if that means consenting to the kidnapping of the girls, I'll volunteer myself instead."

"You would do that for two mutants?" She asked visibly moved. "No,' she recovered; "there is no place for Homo Sapiens where we wish to take them."

"Where is that?"

"To safety."

"To safety? Is there safety under the thumb of Magneto? Is he a warm father figure for them to cuddle with? In a war against the X-men, will they be safe? Couldn't possibly be maimed or killed, could they?

" Where you'll be taking them, will it be a happier place for them? … Is it a happier place for you, Miss Maximoff?"

He hit a _bullseye._ The Scarlet Witch's stunned facial expression gave evidence to that. She averted Giant-man's eyes, as she stared down at his feet. Her expression was lost and near to tears. Hank was going to proceed carefully to fully win her over. And he thought he knew how. He looked intently at her attractive face.

"I've seen your face before. You were escaping camera men at the airport."—Wanda Maximoff looked up into his face —"You and your brother had stopped a hijacking, and the passengers cheered you on.

"I'll ask you to remember that time. How did you feel when they embraced you? How did it feel to be their champion?"

Suddenly Hank heard an abnormal rush of wind. Stage how it wasn't blowing their way, or pushing debris around them. Still, he couldn't forget his plan to convince the Scarlet Witch to abandon the Brotherhood.

"We can bring you to that place of world-wide admiration. The Avengers can always use your services… you and your brother."

"The… Av- Avengers"?" she stammered.

_I got her,_ he thought. _I'll reel her in slowly, now. She'll stop her brother. Then I can attend to whatever menace caused the police to shoot their guns._

"Please," he said while still on his knees. Giant-man extended his hand. Wand began to reach for it when the winds picked up and the police van behind him lifted up into the air. It shook as if straining to stay airborne. On the other side of the van was a swirling dust storm.

_"Yolanda! Girls!"_ Hank Pym yelled.

_"Pietro!"_ Wanda Maximoff screamed.

Giant-man saw the two girls on the ground. The younger was flat on the ground, covering her head with her hands. The oldest was extending her hands toward the floating vehicle. Her face looked stained.

Suddenly the van swiped at the Unicorn. If this was quicksilver's downing, Giant-man would have to act even if it meant losing the Scarlet Witch.

* * *

On the side of the ramp leading to the bridge was a solid cement wall structure. The Thinker's machine punched and kicked holes into the 18 inch thick wall to make toe and hand grips. The destructive machine reached the street and the operator was ecstatic. Zhi Ming Xu knew that the people's mad escape, the chain reaction causing 18car pile-ups on the ramp and on the street was because of him.

He wasn't the little kid to be bossed around or looked down on. NO! He was the invincible Xu, now. And he was feeling great.

The mechanical giant ran towards the Avenger whom he had spotted from the truck. But bouncing around inside of the cockpit was hurting his neck. Xu rectified that by using the duo hidden tires inside of each of the soles of the metal boots. He could "skate" on one foot between tight spaces or just kick cars away. The overgrown, overrated America giant was going to be the first to feel the fury of the Xu, the conqueror. Yeah, he liked the sound of that.

The young communist saw a battle raging at a distance. _Okay, this was it_, he told himself. The Imperialist giant was going down. And just to make sure, he picked up weapons. He randomly chose two of the many cars that were abandoned when the drivers saw him coming and they couldn't back up.

With a nauseating, puke-green '59 Rambler Cross Country Station Wagon in one hand and a _floozy's_ overbearing lipstick-red '61 Buick Electra on the other, Xu, the conqueror charged onward.

* * *

On Second Avenue, there was excited chatter about a shoot out. The Sandman was on his way to the courthouse and he knew that he had no business there. He knew that …. until someone mentioned Spider-man.

The Sandman froze. Marko's controlled demeanor melted behind the newly found fiery rage. Spider-man was the son of a bitch who put him behind bars. Marko doesn't forget favors done for him, nor damages inflicted upon him. Barely containing cuss words, Marko ripped off the watch that was designed to recieve the Thinker's signal in the event that the evil genius needed his assisitance to escape from the courthouse. _But that's for another time_, he said to himself. Marko placed the time piece in the bag with the box of candy.

The man with a stripped green t-shirt and brown pants disappeared. A mass of sand replaced him. Two observant women behind him screamed in horror. Unconcerned, the sand stretched like the Fantastic Four's Reed Richards. It scaled the side of a building to put what looked like a brown paper bag on top of a roof.

A strong wind moved southward. The sand took the shape of a blanket and rode the wind like a surfer moving sideways under a big  
wave.

Three siren-screaming police cars were heading in the same direction as he was. Marko could not afford interference in the event that Spider-man was by the bridge. He made himself as heavy as a block of cement and aimed for the front of the lead car.

The impact was loud. The Sandman struck the front passenger side of the hood just above the wheel well. The police car flipped up—rear first. It spun like a top in the air while flipping end-over-end. The squad car crashed on the sidewalk upside down. The front end was left pointing in the opposite direction. The roof was flattened and the front of the car lifted up as if to make another somersault, but it went back down. Then the rear of the car copied the movement of the front. Its momentum made the car slide along the sidewalk, bouncing from building to park cars and back. Some pedestrians were lucky and jumped away from the path of the dangerous moving steel. Others were not. Luckily, there were no fatalities.

Before that squad car slid to a stop, the Sandman had formed his upper body into two concrete ramps. The second police car took the ram with its two passenger-side wheels. It flipped to the right and rolled over some parked cars. Its top hit the side of the building, bounced away and it came to a stop on its side. The third car mirrored the second, but its roll ended when it crashed into a storefront to the left of Marko.

The Sandman's two arms surrendered their rigidity. They stretched up to a windowsill three stories from the ground and then, like a sling shot, Marko propelled his body up into the air. A sandy blanket reappeared and he continued towards the area where people said Spider-man could be found.

In seconds, his excitement reached a fire alarm level. His eyes found the mother f - - ker, himself. Spider-man…. The soon-to-be-squashed Spider-man. Whoever he was waltzing with was going to be the least of his problem.

* * *

Back in Queens, Jan finally saw the futility of pacing on different levels of the penthouse. She had to slow down her racing mind.

Why was Hank gone? Where did he go? What is he discussing with whom? Does he still have feelings for her? If he doesn't, how will Jan win Hank back? None of that was helping the present situation. She was going crazy and she needed a calm mind for when he'd return. … If he was going to return, that is.

_"Stop that_," she scolded herself. He hadn't packed his bags, so she encouraged herself to stay calm.

Jan already had her talk planned out with two distinct places in her opening monologue where she could start shedding tears. It would be easy to perform since she was already deathly afraid that he was going to dump her.

At any rate, wearing out the carpets was out. She decided to wait in Hank's bedroom for his return. She first went to the paperbacks in her room to find a distraction.

She picked up and returned two paperbacks on her shelf. The stories had to do with infidelity, and she didn't want anything re-engaging her anxiety. Actually, she didn't want to do too much thinking at all—her brain was exhausted. She then blindly took three other books. One of them should be able to relax her.

Jan put on Hank's bedside radio and listened to easy music. She lay across his bed width-wise and looked at her selections.

**_From The_** **_Terrace_**— mutual martial betrayal, she remembered. NOPE!

**_Dial M for Murder_**— the synopsis refreshed her memory. "A former stellar tennis player discovers his wife's infidelity …" FORGET IT.

**_Niagara: A Novel Adaptation Of The Hit Movie_**—the back cover read, "With the aid of her lover, the beautiful Rose Loomis plans the murder of her husband."

" F - -K! ARE BOOKS ABOUT THIS S - IT THE ONLY F - - KING, G – DDAMN THINGS THAT I HAVE IN MY F - - KING LIBRARY?!"

* * *

"You've got to be kidding," Swen called out to his buddy. Fred Dukes wasn't. He was going to see what the hell was going on over at the street closest to the river. And he was using one of his famous circus maneuvers to get there. He had rolled his huge rotund body into a ball to race downhill to the scene. Fred was half a block away and gaining momentum, when Swen had shouted to him. Swen followed his massive pal as his figure became smaller to his eyes. The Blob finally took a right turn to disappear altogether.

Fred bounced off of cars and building, but he was the Blob. Nothing could hurt him. He was the breath-taking wonder of the Applebaum Circus.

Fred arrived at the scene. It was his turn to have his breath taken away. The New York Psychiatric Hospital stood to his left. His eyes moved a little to the right of the building to find a couple of police cars smashed under a green truck that was leaking fuel. No, it wasn't fuel. There was too much of it on the ground. Was that soda?

A horrific crash sound made him turn around. The people who were running to see the action out of curiosity were now running and screaming in fear. These people dispersed to the right and left of the intersection a block before the crossroad where the Blob stood.

Behind the panic-stricken crowd, he saw an undefined structure in the middle of the street. Two cop cars flew over it and flipped in the air in opposite directions. Suddenly the structure became grainy. It magically leaped up and became a blanket of sand. It flapped in the wind, but made no noise. Fred made out a coarse face at the head of it as it passed over him.

The Blob's eyes followed this strange sight to the street just before the river. His eyes scanned over the full scenery where he saw Giant-man on his knees pleading for mercy in front of a dame less than a third his size, an armored flying being followed by a flying police van, a live statue getting to his feet, Spider-man running like the bottom of his feet were on fire, the beginning of a dust tornado, and a huge mechanical man with his arms up as if he won a boxing match … Hold up. Was he using cars as his boxing gloves?

Fred put his hands to his cheeks. He could check into the psychiatric hospital close by if he thought he was going bonkers. But Frederick Jolan Dukes thought it was more likely that he was having a nightmare while still awake.

* * *

Post script:

**Jan's library:** NO PREACHING INTENDED. Just taking the computer input principle: "Garbage in, garbage out." Submerge oneself in stories, TV, movies about an immoral behavior and one becomes de-sensitized to that particular practice.

**Sandman's Resentment**: Spider-man defeated Marko in Spider-man # 4 (1963), months before this story takes place.

**Applebaum Circus:** Marvel never named the Blob's circus. " Applebaum" is unique to this story.

**Clint (Hawkeye) Barton, scheming murderer**: This is totally in character with his first appearance In Tales of Suspense # 57 (1964). In that mag, Hawkeye played possum so that Iron Man would turn his back. Hawkeye then shot a grenade arrow with the purpose of finishing off his foe. Now the wannabe killer (and established coward) is a Marvel Comics hero. Go figure.


	22. Chapter 22: Battles, Betrayal & Brygitka

Chapter 22: Battles, Betrayal, and Brygitka

He had a luxury apartment on the top floor of Starks Industries' Administration Building. 6 minutes away from the factory, he had a palatial home. It rested grandly on a multiple acre scenic masterpiece that snuggled with a good length of the North Shore. To the east, there was a man-made sandy beach that was the envy of any seaside resort. To the west, two goliath yachts boastfully stretched along two docks of the world's finest Brazilian Ipe wood and stainless steel. Each yacht held a helicopter. Their essentiality wasn't because Stark was often called off from the boats to attend meetings. The copters were there because some of his dates had a problem coping with the combination of alcohol and sea waves…. And Tony wasn't about to redecorate his yachts— his babies— with anyone's puke, no matter how stunning she looked. And as far as nature was concern, Suffolk County was gorgeous in the spring.

Still, if one had asked him, Tony Stark would've confessed that he liked it just where he was …. on top of the Manhattan exit of the Battery Tunnel. Here he appreciated the timely gusts of wind that brought up skirts (he also cursed the unknown designer who invented the secretarial straight skirt look).

Here the billionaire could make conference calls through his helmet to arrange a golf date with two different steel manufacturing tycoons. He could also check up on the latest FBI lead on the thief— Herman Schultz; keep in contact with his various plant managers; and pick up a Joe Franklyn radio program featuring the Best of Abbott and Costello. Most rewarding of all, he could do all this without asking Pepper Potts to set them up.

If there was something school-boyish about the Man of the World, Tony Stark, it was that he couldn't decide if seeing the lovely Pepper was a great joy or a terrible affliction.

Since the Battery Tunnel was situated so close to the court buildings, Tony mistakenly figured that the soda trucks with explosives would've made it their number one conduit. Explosions around the court house area would have been more persuasive in effecting the Thinker's release. Not that Tony was complaining about The Thinker's shoddy plan, of course. It allowed him to enjoy a sunny, peaceful day.

Stark went from sitting up to reclining. His perch overlooked the check-point station, but it was far enough to allow him to lift his face mask just enough to expose his mustached lips. One hand pillowed the back of his head and the other hand secured his cup of coffee against his stomach; HIS coffee, meaning the hour-ago imported Colombian beans, Irish Cream topping, and a good portion of 90 proof … eh, liquid.

Thinking about the other heroes who were stationed at different surveillance points , Tony asked himself, "I wonder if my partners are having problems staying awake."

* * *

**_CRAAASH!_** The vehicle metals screamed as the powerful stranger slammed an FBI car down on top of a police car. The FBI agents in that limo initially exhibited bravery by stopping it directly in front of the emotionless terror. They had gotten out and unloaded their pistols. But when the mighty figure lifted their car over his head, the same agents, understandably, ran for cover.

Curiously, after running off his opponents, the overall-attired stranger didn't continue walking towards the main intersection. He invested a few seconds to twist and wrap one vehicle onto the other. Car fluids poured onto the streets and appeared to have been running away from the frightening man-brute.

Seconds later, the mighty man's motives were clear. The stranger used the twisted metal mess as a bowling ball to stop the NYPD patrol cars that were speeding towards him from the north. The impact forced those squad cars into the air; some were rocketed to the sides, some bounced over the "bowling ball" and landed on their roofs.

A camera caught every incredible movement of the stranger. But it became evident that the extraordinary photographer now had to consider the financial worth of the snap shots a secondary concern. It appeared that the strong menace had a singular mind to make it to Second Avenue. With all the traffic there, it would have been easy for him to commandeer a car and ride it away.

* * *

Cop cars had jumped into the air due to the strong man's bowling talents. Some policemen could walk away; others had to be pulled out of their vehicles. Spider-man was relieved that there were no fatalities.

_Well, that was impressive_, Peter thought after witnessing the spectacle. But not so impressive as to make him hightail it out of there.

"All right, now where was I, before I was interrupted," Spider-man said to himself.

Again, from atop a lamppost, some 40 yards behind the stranger, the tender-footed Spider-man shot two web-lines. This time he was successful in snaring each of the strong man's wrists. The heroic youth had planned to pull him back towards the secluded bomb search area near the East River. To his surprise, the stranger raised his hands and then mightily pulled them down in front of him. With the extra effort that came from bending at the waist, he yanked Spider-man off of the lamppost in an incredible display of strength.

"Are you kidding me?" Spider-man fussed in the air. "Again? Stone-butt and this mutt must have the same fighting instructor."

The pull had forced the hero to sail across the almost half-length of a football field towards the back of his opponent.

Peter thought the guy was a fool, though. The silent man was actually helping Spider-man pounce on his foe from behind. Well, with this particular blindside attack, the youth wasn't going to suffer from a guilty conscience.

Spider-man's senses again erupted. Something wasn't right…. this wasn't going to play out as he had planned. No surprise— almost nothing in his life did.

A second after he became apprehensive, Spider-man shot a web to a lamppost in front of his foe and pulled. His body rose up just two yards away from the back of the stranger. Lucky he did— the man turned around with incredible speed and threw a round-house. His fist made a whizzing sound in the air to testify to the velocity of the punch. And considering the power behind it, Spider-man would have been laid out. But as the arched flight had worked to his advantage against the stone-man, it did so again. He flew over his opponent and landed behind the powerhouse…. on his toes… the pain caused by kicking the Gargoyle had not completely dissipated.

He crouched his body into a ball. He rolled himself towards _Mighty Mutt_ (as Peter now called him) who had his back towards the hero. Spider-man upended the strong man in his own version of bowling. The next time Spider-man's hands hit the ground, he pushed up. With a straightened body, the spectacular hero sliced through the brisk air like a human javelin. Spider-man landed a good distance away.

There was no anger in the face of the stranger as he got up from the ground. Spider-man raced towards him for another clash. Oh, Thank God for his spider-senses—Peter applied a feet-first slide to stop his forward movement. He brought his knees to his chest again and re-enacted his body roll to distance himself from the man. At that point another hail of bullets ripped up the ground around the silent menace. The torso part of his body-length overalls seemed to dance in different directions under the punishing bullets.

_The cops_, Peter said to himself. _Damn, they should give a guy warning._

From a safe distance, Peter took out his camera again. The photos that he took were fantastic, if he could say so himself. He got the north and west lines of gun-firing cops. He got the unflinching foe. He got the bullets' effect—the shredded upper part of the man's one piece workman's overalls that now hung only from one shoulder. He also captured a lamppost being ripped from the ground and snapped in two. The camera gave evidence that Mighty Mutt used both hands simultaneously to throw the two pieces of heavy metal at the two lines of uniformed shooters. The four cops to the north ran uptown, two of them were mowed down. The six officers to the west ducked behind their cars that took the hit of the lampost.

Mighty Mutt took a nearby abandoned cop car and, with one hand, tossed it in rainbow arc in the direction of the shelter-seeking policemen.

Peter knew that it would come down very close on the other side of the cars that they used for protection.

"Run," Peter yelled, "It's going to land on y—"

He didn't need to finish his warning. The officer saw the path of the vehicle and took off.

Spider-man again put his camera way. It was time for a showdown. The youth hesitated for a second. That distanst sound... Was it? _Oh, come on, _Peter scolded himself. _When was the last time a tornado hit New York? _

Spider-man leaped twice, the second time he shot his body horizontally. … _BANG!_ He hit the powerful man's back with his two feet. Great— it didn't hurt as much as it did with Stone-butt.

The mighty stranger slid stomach-down across the black top. As Peter planned, the strong man was sliding towards the Bomb check point.

The man's travel stopped and he stood up. Spider-man again kicked him and sent him skimming the surface on his way towards the river. The combatants were close enough. The youth now had to conjure up a plan to stop him. Spider-man ran to where he lay. The youth grabbed the right ankle of the stranger. His scheme was to twirl the man around the incredibly powerful hero's body once. This should generate enough momentum to send his enemy head-first into the engine block of the same soda truck that he had destroyed.

" I mean," Peter reason, "you can't get a better K.O. than a head meeting the truck engine. Even the Hulk would have a king-sized headache."

Spider-man was so busy thinking about what he was GOING to do, while the foe was concentrating on the NOW. In the middle of the spin, _Mighty Mutt_ bent his body to grab the hero's wrist. Amazingly, the menace hauled the hero into the air. The grip of the man was so strong and unexpected that it forced the young crusader to release his grip. Now the villain was holding him.

Sometimes having impressive strength isn't so beneficial. Spider-man's spin resulted in a build-up of speed that both bodies flew parallel to the ground for several yards in the direction of the abandoned bomb unit truck. The fact that both bodies were spinning like a jet-packed Merry-Go-Round in the air, made it more problematic to Peter. It was making him dizzy.

The strong man mightily slapped Peter's free hand away as the hero tried to grab his enemy's wrist with his other hand.

All of a sudden the menace let go. The powerhouse's feet and left hand were on the pavement trying to stop his spin. Peter, on the other hand, was heading straight to the side of the truck.

His feet hit the truck. He bent his knees to absorb the deadly impact. He straightened his legs to push off. The six ton truck rocked in the opposite direction, testifying to the great speed that the hero was traveling.

Spider-man shot back towards his foe. His foot pain was gone. There was only a minor discomfort on his knees and that disappeared under his adrenaline rush.

Peter was still set on a head-blow to finish off his opponent. Spider-man's hand-to-feet-to-hands horizontal lunges had the properties of a stalking panther's silence and a racing car's pace.

The menace had straightened up his body. Spider-man's last hand-push away from the street allowed the hero's chest to face skyward. The youth scissor-ed his legs around the stranger's head from behind. In one sixth of a second, his butt hit the mutt's back. The force of that impact shot both figures forward.

Working against his own momentum, the hero threw his upper body back. His hands hit the ground. His legs followed his backwards swing to raise his foe upward.

Immediately, the air vibrated with a load crash. The powerful man's head was rammed to the street floor with all the strained effort that could come from the amazing leg strength of a proportionately sized spider.

The black top was shatters into pieces; smaller pieces few everywhere, while larger chunks surrounded his foe's body. The stranger remained motionless on the ground, face-down. Long silence gripped the air.

"Hey, I got him. _Aww right!"_ Peter cheered.

Peter got off two pictures when the tingle started again. In a blink of an eye, the prone figure shot to his knees and his hands scooped up the biggest chunk of the shattered black top. How he knew that Spider-man was standing on it was a mystery. Before the youth could react, the terror threw it and the hero behind his back. Again Spider-man was flying at a rapid pace, but not according to his design.

As Spider-man saw the mutt's body getting smaller to his eyes the only thing he could say was, "_Aww damn_."

* * *

The Unicorn faced away from the van. On her left, the first cop, whom Quicksilver rendered unconscious, was being dragged away from the battlefield by the second police man who the speedster had attacked. She would have helped, except that they were not in immediate danger right then. Instead, she turned to her right to face a very real and present threat.

The Unicorn saw a small, but violent cyclone develop in front of her. She didn't have to guess as to who was responsible.

Sand, dirt, and stray trash were whizzing around at a tremendous rate. The sparsely spaced trees shattered and surrendered their jagged limbs to the deadly portrait.

Whatever Quicksilver was planning, the Unicorn wanted to keep their battle away from the van. She lifted up in the air and moved away from the vehicle. The swirling winds did not follow her.

_What a fool I am,_ Yolanda said to herself. He wanted me to overreact just as I did and separate myself from the girls."

She shot back to hover between the van and the cyclone.

Her peripheral vision caught another movement. The Unicorn was stunned to see the van begin to rise. During its ascension, the vehicle appeared to be trembling. Was this all Quicksilver's doing as well?

The Unicorn looked down to see that the girls had left the van. The younger girl was face down on the ground with her arms shielding her head. The older girl's face expressed a struggle, while her hands extended towards the van. At least now Yolanda knew why the mutant was after one of the teenage girls. As if Yolanda's eyes weren't wide enough, the heroine had just noticed that the older girl's hair turned green.

The van swung swiftly in her direction. The armored heroine ducked and the rear of the vehicle barely missed her. The Unicorn knew that the attack was meant for Quicksilver. Or, at least, the older girl was aiming for the 4-story cyclone hoping to make contact with her would-be abductor.

The green-haired teen put one hand to her mouth and arched her eyebrows as she discovered the near-hit on the wrong person. The van shook harder until the girl extended both hands.

"Knock it off," The Unicorn yelled, "What are you doing out of the van?"

They may have intended to help, but actually, they were INTERFERING! It was doubtful that the girls could hear the Unicorn as the small tornado cried out in a loud rage.

Suddenly, the Unicorn was forcefully vacuumed into the cyclone. The new heroine was struck hard from the left side. She went spinning in the air and out of the wind funnel. What could have hit her? She was 30 feet in the air? In the middle of her involuntary somersaults, she saw Quicksilver falling back to earth.

Her brilliant mind came to the conclusion that the 110-plus miles an hour wind had added to his incredible momentum. Together they allowed Quicksilver to leap up and assault her. And that same strong wind was working as a circular playground slide for his safe descent.

She would be a sitting duck up there if she stayed. But if she moved away, he was fast enough to snatch at least one of the girls.

The winds again seized her. He came up to attach again and again. Quicksilver was too fast for her to grab. All she saw was the soles of his feet connecting to her helmet and nearly detaching her head.

The Unicorn magnetized her head and neck to keep them from moving independently from her body. Now with her body as unbendable as a steel beam, those kicks had minimal effects.

The last time he had struck her, Quicksilver caused an uncontrollable backward spin of her body. Ironically, Quicksilver's attack moved her head away from the path of the fast moving van that whipped from left to right.

The Unicorn regained her flight stability control. She looked down to see the older girl looking scared and her fists were planted against the sides of her face. The wind was still howling, but Yolanda lip-read the older girl's mouth: "I'm sorry."

Yolanda angrily put up two fingers to indicate the times that the well-intending teen had almost struck her.

As much as he wanted, Quicksilver wasn't hurting the meddlesome metallic wench. As much as she craved, the Unicorn wasn't quick enough to catch the jack ass and twist his stupid head off of his shoulders. This was getting neither the white-haired militant mutant nor the white-haired armored heroine anywhere. And if she knew that, then so did that faster-than-eye-could-follow jerk.

The Unicorn took a stab at what a stalemate would mean to Quicksilver. He was probable going to take one girl and make a run for it.

The air-hovering heroine noticed that the older girl was looking away. Her line of vision shot under the van— the same van that blocked Yolanda's vision to her left. The girl's attention was divided between the Unicorn and whatever she was seeing.

Debris were shooting past Yolanda's eyes. She could only see the green-haired girl's lips giving the "g" and "m" sound. At first Yolanda surmised that the girl was talking about her beloved. But when the perceived "chew"—or was it "statue"?— then "tree" and finally an "n" word followed, Yolanda figured it was nervous gibberish. The Unicorn concentrated on protecting the young females.

She shot many repulsor blasts around the teenage girls. Yolanda hadn't practice on her accuracy that much, so she kept the blasts about ten feet away from the girls. The ground around them shot up from the battering force. Small craters encircled them.

Yolanda's hunch proved correct. The _invisible_ Quicksilver suddenly appeared. He was hopelessly sliding away along the ground, spinning on his rear. The first visual she had of his helpless twirling was when the repulsors violently uprooted the ground closest to the prone girl. That meant that the speedster was planning to scoop up the youngest.

While his spinning was slowing down, Quicksilver buried his face in his hands. He was trying to recover from his dizziness. Yolanda noticed that whatever was left of the white-haired mutant's clothing was scorched. No doubt that was a result of the air friction that his blinding speed fought against. Underneath his street clothes was a green outfit with a ridiculously-looking diagonal white design. Yolanda thought that it was supposed to represent lighting.

The wind noise had died down. The Unicorn shouted for the girls to get back into the van. What she didn't make known (because her enemy would've heard) was that she intended to lift the vehicle and fly them out of there. Where? She wasn't sure. But before she left, she would search out Giant-man. She wasn't leaving her beloved behind.

The van came down to earth with a jolt. The green-haired girl got the younger female to her feet. They rushed towards the van.

The Unicorn looked around, but she didn't see Quicksilver. No doubt he was hiding somewhere in order to recover from wooziness, but what could the armored heroine do?

Suddenly, another vortex appeared. For the third time she found herself inside of it. But this time, things seemed different. She wasn't being pushed in one direction, but in many.

* * *

On the other side of the van without side-windows, Giant-man was on one knee before Wanda Maximoff. Henry Pym wasn't so proud that he couldn't take a submissive pose in front of the woman who could stop the crazy Quicksilver. They ignored a sudden unexplainable noise of gale-like winds. They continued talking above the noise. They talked about the future of the girls who she and her brother pursued.

These youngsters would not have the glorified life that her brother promised. Wanda knew that. Wanda MORE than knew that. She had to admit that her misplaced loyalty would force the two girls to partake of the poison inside of the promised shiny apple.

Hank was winning her over. He was so close to getting her on his side, and she appeared only a hair's width away from being open to joining the Avengers .

Then the police van behind him rose up in a teeter-totter fashion. Behind the rising vehicle was the source of the violent wind sound— a destructive dust tornado. Both man-sapian and woman-superior knew that the cyclone had nothing to do with the levitating van.

They both yelled out for the safety of the people in their hearts.

"Yolanda! Girls!" Giant-man yelled. "Pietro," the sister shouted in hopes of receiving a response.

The 18-foot Avenger's heart was stolen by the girl who was lying on the ground, covering her face in fear. His pity showered the taller girl who looked like she was either straining or her face was being distorted by panic. …. BUT HE DIDN'T SEE YOLANDA!

He had sworn to himself that he would never let her leave his sight. He was ready to die for her if the time came and now he failed in his first promise. His skyrocketing anger was aimed at himself and at the prospect that Yolanda was in danger inside of the vortex.

Still lightheaded due to dehydration, Giant-man turned to the Scarlet Witch. He had to quickly explain his intention to stop her brother. But he also had to find the right words that would convince her that he didn't want to hurt Pietro, though his actions perhaps would come across as contrary.

Suddenly something round and hard struck the back of Giant-man's knee. He fell backwards to the ground. He then found the jagged end of a tree under his chin. The trunk was as wide as a typewriter. The fact that there was a spiked end against his Adam's apple gave evidence that it was torn from its base by a powerful force. Holding the other end, the end with leafy branches, was the Grey Gargoyle. The villain shouted above the wind's roar.

"Aye don' know dzeez fa-rends of you-airs, nor do aye ca-air for you-air games. Aye come to you weez a szeerrr-ess pro-pear-szi-szi-own. Call fo-air Zsor and you live. Wha'z you-air anz-air?"

Shock, anger, frustration all reached a boil. Hank would never give up an ally. To expect him to fold under pressure was as insulting to him as it would have been to Big Sis Erica if she was likewise approached. And above all, he certainly had no intention of letting anyone sidetrack him from finding Yolanda.

Concerning the Gargoyle's proposition, Giant-man answered, "And I've one for you. Take this tree away from my neck and you won't be sent to the hospital to have it surgically removed from your a – s."

"Wrrrrong anz-air , Szwine."

"Okay," Giant-man replied. "Then I'll stick something else up there. But I hear doctors charge a fortune to remove heads from where nature never intended them to be."

The Gargoyle was so enraged that he forgot his plan to keep his opponent alive long enough for him to summon Thor.

Duval took one step forward and plunged the sharpen end into the crimson giant. But the Avenger had both hands gripping the trunk. The piercing end never got closer to his neck. Instead, all that the villain had accomplished was to push Giant-man along the sidewalk.

The Grey Gargoyle cried out in frustration and plowed the jagged end forward again.

The flaps on the Gargoyle's blue insulated gloves were not pulled back. Having no contact with his infectious palms, the tree had not been transformed into stone. It was heavy, but not as weighty as petrified wood. The Avenger thought to lift the Gargoyle's end of the tree and then increase his strength by doubling his size. A strong throw would send his attacker into the East River. There, the villain would be too preoccupied with hanging on to the tree and staying afloat to do any damage.

As Giant-man lifted the trunk, the tree snapped in half. The Grey Gargoyle's end fell back down. It was the Scarlet Witch's doing.

Wanda said, "I thought to save you, I didn't think that you were able…"

Giant-man nodded with understanding. He was more thankful than angry over her misconceived aid.

The Gargoyle's knees landed on the ground and his elbows were on top of the trunk. Looking at Wanda, Duval snarled, "Away weez you, baba-ling wench. Aye 'av no intee-ressst in kealing a cra-zzy woo-man."

Wanda was about to reply to his insult with a stretch of her hand, when Paul Duval yelled out in astonishment. His enormous opponent had magically disappeared. Wanda turned this way and that to discover the truth in his words.

The Gargoyle looked threateningly at the beauteous mutant. "You deez-tu-rrrack-ted me, so de cow-edd could flee. You wheel pay."

Wanda, herself, thought that Giant-man had abandoned the fight and left her to fend for herself even after she attempted to save him. Without the spineless Avenger there, she would have to cast a few spells in order to trip the Gargoyle up. She would backtrack to the small tornado and hopefully her brother would come to her side.

Wanda had waited too long and, in a blink of an eye, the villain closed the gap between them with quick leap. The Gargoyle lunged at her.

Suddenly, the stony menace shot up into the air. Only the wind caused by his swiping hand had reached the damsel's cheek.

Wanda's heart was in her throat as she saw that the Gargoyle was picked up from his heel. Giant-man had re-appeared behind him. Hank Pym had only a second, knowing that one touch from the Gargoyle's hand would transform him into an immovable statue.

Duval bent at his waist and reached for the giant's hand. Hank quickly flicked him away, barely missing his touch. Giant-man was frustrated. He knew that a hard pull-back-and-throw maneuver would have been better, but by the time he could move his arm forward, he'd have look like the statue of liberty and his enemy would have looked like the torch in her hand.

Worst yet, the Gargoyle had the strength to break off Giant-man's fingers to free himself. When Hank would revert to flesh 12 hours later, his hand would be gushing out of blood. That would have been serious even if he wasn't dehydrated. But now in his weakened condition …

What was done, was done. Now, the next best thing was to take the half-a-tree without the branches and play a little golf.

He swung and the Gargoyle flew through the air. Unfortunately, the presumptuous Hank turned his back on his attacker, thinking he had achieved victory. But Paul Duval had latched on to another tree. His touch petrified the tree and made if strong enough to stop his flight.

The floating van finally dropped down to earth with a shaking impact. But the small tornado remained.

Giant-man barked at the Scarlet Witch. "I know the dust devil is your brother's doing. Call him off. I'll be damned before I let him harm the one I hold dear… nor will I let him to take the girls."

Half of Wanda rose up in defense of her brother— Giant-man's tone sounded threatening and she would not tolerate that. The other half of the woman understood. Wanda felt the same protective feelings for her beloved brother.

"Stand aside, giant. I, not you, will stay his hand."

Hank turned his face from the woman knowing that rage had encamped upon his features and he could not easily wipe it away. There was no sense losing her confidence right now. She had to be willing to stop her brother's attack.

Giant-man moved to the other side of the van in time to see the older girl's foot disappear into the vehicle. The door slid shut , then Giant-man opened it.

The girl's were initially afraid, but when they saw him, they were extremely comforted.

"Where's the Unicorn," he asked anxiously.

The green-haired girl's left hand pointed over Henry's left shoulder. Her words were quick and frightened. "Over in that thing."

THAT THING! The tornado. Nothing mattered to Giant-man just then; not the shocking green hair that suddenly captured the girl's scalp, not the enemies that had gathered around him, not even his life. Yolanda's safety was sole purpose of existence.

He closed the van door and turned to the vortex.

Wanda's shouts to her brother could not be heard over the roaring winds. She wasn't going to stop him. Giant-man had to do it.

He grew to 90 feet— dizziness be damned. The left knee went to the ground and he slid his right foot into the base of the tornado.

He got the desired effect. The foot blocked the speedster's circular run and the tornado winds lifted into the sky. The large chunks of debris that were caught in the swirling wind made themselves known. Black top, sidewalk blocks, discarded tires and uprooted and wind- splintered trees fanned out in different directions

Hank caught the Unicorn as she fell. His heart swelled in relief as his hands provided her with a seat and a backrest.

One of the Unicorn's hands was over her eye slits. The other was over her face covering's mouth. The lower portion of her metal mask had tiny holes that were hard to see, but they allowed her to breath air …. Air that the vortex was robbing from her.

"Sweetie," Gant-man said with a great concern.

She removed her hands and angrily gasped, "Remind me … to install … a glass behind …. the eye openings. Breathing… holes that could .. close up entirely ….and an oxygen container for these … missions.

Giant-man smiled as his heart soared.

"Where is that jackass?" the Unicorn asked in a steadier voice.

His smile dropped away as he saw the green-attired assailant on the instep of his right foot.

"Did you think I would so easily succumb?" Quicksilver's face was full of rage.

"Pietro, enough," his sister called from his right.

"No, Wanda. I will finish this and teach these maggots what it means to stand in the way of a Homo Superior."

Wanda knew her brother as a good man, but he had a violent temper. At times like these, Pietro had frightened her. No matter—she knew what was coming and Wanda charged forward to push him off of the giant's foot herself.

Quicksilver spun like Giant-man's old enemy, The Top. If Giant-man hesitated a few seconds more, the barbaric Quicksilver would have bored a hole into his foot, His blood would have sprayed in different directions and he'd probably lose the use of that foot him for life.

The Unicorn was wildly enraged after realizing that the speedy mutant was trying to suffocate her… possibly killing her. In Hank's hand, Yolanda had turned to the sound of the detestable dropping from a pig's anus. Upon hearing his retort to his sister, and seeing the scum's intent to cripple Henry, she whispered into her helmet to maintain her left hand's repulsor ray to the intensity that sprawled out the white-haired dung before. However, her right repulsor was going to be increased to a tank-disintegrating level. Pietro was going to become a puff of ashes.

But Henry needed no one's defense. Yolanda only spoke, "Right repulsor increase—" when Giant-man kicked his foot up. The white-haired speedster was caught off guard when he was launched into the air. The huge Avenger's left hand grabbed the savage scum as he fell earthward.

Quicksilver tilted his head back and let out a terrible shout as Hank's anger overtook his determination to seek a less violent ending.

"My grip almost killed him," Hank scolded himself.

The Unicorn's boot boosters enabled her to lift off of her partner's right hand. She circled behind him and stopped at his left shoulder. She cheered, "GOOD!"

But it wasn't _good_ for his sister, The Scarlet Witch.

"And now I see your true natures," Wanda shouted. "You speak persuasively so as to make me drop my guard. When I do, you celebrate the injury to my brother.

"No, not a celebration, but a relief that hasn't caused—"

"I'LL HEAR NO MORE OF YOUR TREACHEROUS WORDS! RELEASE MY BROTHER, NOW!"

Yolanda said accusatorially, "On the subject of two faced, you, yourself, seem preoccupied with his safety and you did nothing when he jeopardized ours."

Hank whispered for the Unicorn to leave the talking to him, but Wanda was going to leave it to neither. She extended her hands to cause a back spasm and Hank turned right so that Pietro's body was over the van. A five-finger spasm opened Giant-man's hand and Quicksilver dropped onto the van roof. Then the Scarlet Witch caused his legs to tangle with themselves and Giant-man-fell backwards. But in her angry haste, she neglected to note that the 90-foot behemoth was falling in her direction.

With the one leg still on the ground, Giant-man pushed his falling body away in an attempt to not hurt the Scarlet Witch. That leap covered a tremendous amount of ground. But since he didn't know where Wanda was actually standing, he simultaneously shrunk to twelve feet to further minimize his chance of landing on her. The crimson hero fell unhurt. But the momentum cause by falling from his previous mega-size threw him into rapid tumble along the ground.

Giant-man continued rolling away until he was stopped by two metal legs. He looked up and saw two cars hovering over him. Then the cars parted and he saw an Asiatic man on the other side of a protective dome. Wait a minute— he was inside of a mechanical man. The man behind the dome tilted his head back and released a laugh that Hank couldn't hear.

* * *

Seeing that Henry was unhurt, the Russian-born heroine turned her rage towards the hex-manipulator. The ground under Wanda shot up and the female mutant's body was hurled against the van with such force that she bounced off and hit the ground equally hard.

_"You hell-spawned, COWARDLY BETRAYER! _ You led a good man to believe that you sided with him. At the first provocation, or probably at the first excuse you could use, you traitorously attacked an honorable man who only sought your good. He could have crushed you under his weight after your betrayal. But he valued your safety above his own.

"Get up, Scarlet _BITCH! _Let's see how well you fare against someone who _does not _ share his concern. Neither will you catch meby surprise, you dog dung."

* * *

Delphina shot up from the seat behind the kitchen table. She knew that she should not have told her sister about Jan Van Dyne's disrespectful attitude.

**[THIS CONVERSATION WAS HELD IN POLISH. THE FOLLOWING IS THE ENGLISH EQUIVILANT]**

"Where are you going?"

"To give that witch what is coming to her," Brygitka answered.

"I suppose you don't mean you're throwing her a party?"

"A Party? The first thing I'm going to throw her is a shower of punches. The second thing I'm throwing is **_her_** out of the window. Come on, you can see me knock her out colder than an iced flounder… and without refrigeration, no doubt she'll stink twice as bad."

Brygitka tried to walk hurriedly pass her sister, but Del brought her back with a pull on her arm.

"She's younger than you. She'll kill you."

Brygitka confidently replied, "Well, that's where you come in."

"Me?"

"You hold her arms behind her back."

"What?"

"Okay maybe that's too much for an old woman like you," Brigitka relented.

"Like me, right? … I only wish I was as young as you. What is it? You are all of 4 minutes younger than I am?"

"All right," Brygitka said. "Instead, you just sneak up behind her on your hands and knees. I push her, she falls over you and we both jump on her and make her black and blue."

"Brygitka, I always thought you were crazy, but …"

"Okay, okay— I have a better idea. Dear Henry was working on a cactus in Lab C. We'll carry it and throw it at—"

"You're more than insane."

"You're right, considering how clumsy you are, you'll probably be impaled on the stupid thing before we can get it out of the door.

Brygtka continued, " _I got it!_ … We give you the Giant-man serum and you squash—"

"You've **_got it_**, alright. And I'm glad it isn't catchy. Listen, you loose brick, I'm not going to do anything to her."

After she disrespected you?"

Del folded her hands in resolution. "Alright then," Brygitka said. "Where did Yolanda say she left that other Unicorn helmet?"

"It's not ready and even if it was, you would have to explain to the police why she disappeared the same day that you invented the dish, _Barbequed Van Dyne_."

"We have to do something," Brygitka insisted. " When she disrespected you, she disrespected our entire family. …. NO! NO! NO! I won't have her humiliate our family."

"I know. You hate competition."

Again, Brygitka attempted to run pass her sister to deal with Jan. Delfina snagged her wrist and the older twin braced herself so as not to move. All that Brygitka managed to do was run in a circle and end up where she started.

Brygitka shook off the grip and then snapped. " If I wanted a round-trip, I would have booked a cruise. Now out of my way."

Del held the ends of her sister's shoulders. " Listen, _yooou_ need to calm down. Go take a walk."

"Now, where would I possibly be walking to?"

"I hear Argentina is beautiful this time of the year."

The sisters were silent for a minute. Brygitka fumed, and Delfina was preparing for her sister to make another dash towards that horrid Van Dyne woman. Surrounded in that silence, the sisters heard the elevator chime.

Now the elevator in the penthouse had two different chimes; one chime announced someone coming from the street, the other sound was made if the elevator was moving from one floor of the penthouse to another. Obviously, this chime indicated that Jan was entering the first floor… the floor where the kitchen (and the sisters) was situated.

Knowing that she couldn't move pass Del, Brygitka began to cuss loudly in English. She wanted that awful Van Dyne creature to hear what a disgraceful pig (among other things) she was.

Delfina was close to the kitchen radio and she turned up the volume on a music station. Brygitka didn't like that one bit. Instantly, Del found herself in a wrestling match to keep her agitated sister inside of the kitchen.

Jan had come to the living room looking for a magazine that she could take back to Hank's bedroom. She found McCall and Vogue. But she couldn't ignore the assault on her ears. Jan wondered why the f - - k the kitchen radio was blasting so loud as to bring down the building.

She got to the doorway of the kitchen and saw the sisters. Jan turned around and said to herself, "Polish people have the most f- -ked up dance steps in the world."

* * *

**Tree as wide as a typewriter:** To visualize the thickness of tree that the Grey Gargoyle held to Giant-man's neck, imagine the width of a computer key board. Then add 4 inches.

**What does the powerful stranger (or ****_Mighty Mutt_****, as Peter calls him) look like**:

Type on your search engine "Marvel Universe Wiki: Android Man."


	23. Chapter 23: Rage Is Infectious

Chapter 23: Rage is Infectious.

In Virginia, two FBI agents who specialized in communications security entered the telephone switchboard room of Georgetown University Hospital. Two other agents had entered the hospital elevator heading for the 12th floor. They were to be posted at the door of one particular room. This four-walled area had been transformed into a classified confidential governmental facility because of one individual's use of the room's phones.

In her husband's hospital room, Erica Collingsworth moved her chair so that she sat between the bed occupied by her Barry and an empty bed. Erica was heating up the phones on the two bed stands. Years ago she had issued a standing order that any activity performed by former U.S. counter-espionage collaborator, Ant-man had to be made known to her. It was Erica who was the liaison between the FBI and the tiny combatant. Past executions of missions were so successful that even now that she is in the Pentagon as the Under Deputy Secretary of Defense, she had A-1 clearance, in perpetuity, to any information that pertained to the hero.

It was a small feat for the incredible woman who had many aces up her sleeves. Her former employer, the Central Intelligence Agency had a distant relationship with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. They were two kids in the same sandbox who not only never shared toys, but one continually hid his activity from the other. It was her investigative skills that opened up the FBI to her.

In Washington, there are many skeletons in different closets. With the aid of her brother, crafty Erica collected more than her share of stomach-turning dirt. It was a survival route for her back then. It was a source of job security now. Her hubby, Barrymore, never knew if she was kidding when she hinted that Henry Pym had taken photos of FBI Director, Edgar J. Hoover— or "Bulldog-face" as Erica called him— in a dress. But whatever she had on Hoover made the Washington Big-Wig very cooperative.

Armed with information provided by the military, FBI, CIA and the allegiance she had secured with NBC News, Erica was able to paste together a full picture of national security concerns. This landed her in that safe haven of _indispensability._ She was the most sought-after problem-solver in the Lyndon Johnson Administration.

This day in the hospital room, information was coming to her from the phone by Barry. Her orders went out through the second phone. The recipient of her instructions was _Little Snot_— her favorite FBI contact. Originally, Walter Hadley was her biggest obstacle in arriving at a cohesive symbiotic relationship with the Bureau. When he discovered that a partnership with Erica and her "little friend" benefited his career, he then became very accommodating. Soon after, Erica elevated his moniker from "Big Ugly Snot" to his present name.

Hadley's successful collaboration with Erica eventually awarded him the management position over the Central Atlantic FBI units. Hadley also had a strong influence on the New York branch. And that was where Erica had to extend her hands .… in particular, the downtown Manhattan court area.

"Lit, you know by now the press has wind of the battle at 125th Street. Reporters don't put potential consequences before their drive to break a story. If their stupidity resulted in a large body count, that only means another news story.

"I don't know if all these Meta-antagonists were purposely brought in by the Thinker as a precautionary distraction to the bomb plants. Maybe it's coincidence. It could be revenge-driven or a result of frenzied rage and fear. Twice, I have seen where whole villages were swept up in an internal battle for survival when there was no mortal threat to begin with. All it took was a rumor to bring a hidden fear to the surface. One negative action brought a counter-reaction and soon the whole place exploded.

Metas have the same survival instincts that we have. They can be provoked by real or imagined threats.

"Right now the reason isn't as important as keeping that pug-ugly Thinker in the dark. He can't know that the Avengers are posted at the entrances of the borough. If he does, he may go to a back-up plan to spring his release."

Her husband, Barrymore, sat on his bed, with his chin on one hand, just looking at her. _Wow,_ Barry thought. The woman was always a knock-out; but never more so than when this marvelous female-Napoleon placed her battle pieces together in the map of her fantastic mind.

She noticed that dopey, but specially endearing, look on Barry. She blew him a kiss and then resumed. "Tommy-2 is in the car about a minute ahead of him. There is a pig-sty-fill of reporters outside the courthouse. You know some idiot is going to ask what The Thinker knows about the free-for-all."

Referring to Hadley's supportive FBI Supervisor in the New York office, Erica said, "Your boy already has people there. Give me two, one on each side, talking loud into his ear all the way from the car to the court security screeners. Low tech, but effective.

"Oh, Lit,… make sure they are accident prone— you know what I mean."

* * *

Outside of the court building, the circus began. The man—the media-produced celebrity—know as The Thinker got out of the long, black government car. He stood there for a while, with his handcuffs intentionally lowered out of the camera range. He basked in the photo flashes. Why not? The one concept that he shared with his chief rival, The Wizard, was that the public should be treated to a glimpse of supreme genius. It made they're menial existence temporary fulfilling.

One of his plainclothes prisoner escort officers moved the Thinker along.

"Note to myself," The Thinker mused. "After I'm free, .. for a Christmas present, I must send this time-sensitive fellow a clock … attached to a bomb."

Right on cue, two FBI agents muscled themselves to the front of the crowd and identified themselves to the escorts.

A reporter to the right of the captive genius shouted, "What do you think of the meta-brawl in—"

One of the FBI agents turned around and _accidentally_ rammed his elbow into the reporter's mouth. Well, hey, the reporter was almost on the agent's back why wouldn't that mishap occur?

Beginnings of familiar questions were shouted from the Thinker's left. The second agent tripped over his own feet taking a large portion of reporters down with him. The agent got to his feet quicker than those who cushioned his fall. He then joined his partner behind the prisoner.

They went through all the detailed and unnecessary explanation of what to expect in the courthouse lobby, elevator, the dismount of the elevator and the courtroom.

The desired effects were achieved. The brilliant Thinker could not be bothered with childish gibberish from inferior minds— he put his cuffed hands to his ears, yelled to be left alone. Outward appearances led the agents to believe that he mentally turned off all outside noise. When he cleared the security check point, the FBI men suddenly lost their voices.

* * *

Seconds ago:

With the powerful mechanical monster under his control, Zhi Ming Xu was racing towards his giant victim. His machine held a full-size sedan in his right hand, and a station wagon in the other. His forward movement was slowed down several times. Three times he stopped because he saw camera flashes. They didn't look like professional photographers, but he posed threatening with the cars in his hands. The great Communist Party Vice Chairman, Chen Yu, had always stressed that fear must be instilled into the capitalists-vermin to shake them. They needed to be scared away from their secret plan to bury The People's Republic of China.

All good, self-respecting, America-derisive Communists Chinese also knew what the esteemed Chairman Mao Zedong said about these dimly seeing, non-governmental people. Their shallow minds were ruled by paper tigers—all intimidation and no teeth. The great Faithfuls of the Communist Vision had to use the same intimidation against the imperialist, capitalist pigs.

It was no different than Genghis Kahn's world-conquering campaigns. He would camp around the people who he was about to raided and had his soldiers announced that Kahn was God's punishment to them. If they had not shamelessly sinned against Man, and consequently their dreamed-up God, Kahn would not be readying their deaths. Every human had a number of regrettable past behaviors. Kahn's cleaver mind game made the foolish God-believers weak-in-the-knees. Hence, the slaughter and pillage were easier.

What better way to make these childish Americans tremble than to let them witness the coming champion of the great Communist China—the real China. The people will take their photos to their lecherous Paper Tiger leaders. And then using the unwitting US media, all the world will see and shake at the potential of the Great Nation. No imperialist slime will stop the Red Chinese foot from settling on Taiwan, then the Himalayan territories that India had contested. After that … the world. National righteous anger rose at the very thought of outsiders' opposition to stop his country from taking what is rightfully China's.

Xu's fourth distraction came when a curious sight captured him. To the right of the American giant, a statue was jumping down from a tree. A statue? Jumping?

If that wasn't enough, along side Giant-man stood a contained three or four-story tornado. These Americans harbored so many mysterious technologies. They will be a good source for his county to feed upon intellectually.

Xu skipped sideways to avert overturned vehicles, but he kept his focus on the Giant-man.

Sudden, in front of him appeared a long grey canopy of … webbing? Xu refused to break his concentration. The faithful communist had sufficiently stopped three times. If he would have investigated it, he could miss Giant-man. The mechanical monster ran under it, undeterred.

As Xu got closer, the stationary tornado suddenly stopped. A second statue, a shiny dark blue-and gold metal statue, appeared where the top of the twister had been. It fell in front of Xu's intended target. Suddenly, large pieces of black top and sidewalk that were once circled inside of the tornado came flying his way. It banged hard against the metal man.

Xu swung the cars in his hands in front of him to shield his machine. The radar on the console in front of him picked up a movement behind him. His priority was to protect his machine, therefore he did not turn it around. Instead he strained his own neck to see if the movement meant danger.

A distance behind him, a strange giant, white, tan and pinkish ball rolled towards the area where he first saw the long, mysterious canopy. It was inconsequential.

Then Xu felt a jolt at the machine's feet. It was probably a larger chunk of asphalt, he concluded. When he realized that the shower of debris had finished, he brought the cars to his sides and over his head.

The young Red Scientist was temporarily stunned at the sight under him. There he was— _Giant-man!_

He looked up to Xu in equal bewilderment. Xu understood all this to mean that the American had thrown himself at his feet. He was begging for mercy even before the contest began.

Americans were certainly cowards, just as the great Chairman had always said. Xu could afford to be merciful, though. If the fearful oaf would come back with him in chains to China, then the whole world would see which nation was superior. And Zhi Ming Xu would be hailed as the champion of the greater country.

Xu froze both mechanical arms that held the cars over his head. In his euphoria, Xu, fumbled around to reach for the switch that activated the load speaker located below the protective dome and above the gun nozzles.

He beamed as he began, "You have made a good cho—"

Suddenly, a flying police car hit him from the right and Xu went down to his left. The machine flipped over the Rambler Station Wagon that hit the ground before he did. The Buick in his right hand twirled loose.

* * *

The metal man went down. Giant-man sat up to see the menacing Grey Gargoyle running towards him. Giant-man tucked his feet under his 12-foot frame. Duval's chiseled features and in-control voice gave way to rage— rage that was fueled by frustration.

"Szat foo-ell wahz easzy e-new-ff. But you, eleph-int szize Aveng-air, brrring me you-air fa-rend, Szor, or you die."

The Gargoyle leaped into the air. His descent from that incredible height would have enabled him to reach the Giant-man in seconds. Hank Pym jumped to the side and commanded his body to shrink to ant-size, all in a split second.

Henry had mastered the art of shrinking at the precise moment when the momentum of Giant-man's powerful legs could hurdle the small Ant-man a great distance away. At the beginning of an eye blink, he could increase his size to his 6 foot, 1 inch frame just before hitting the ground. By the time one's eyes opened from a normal blink, he would be minuscule again.

Paul Duval landed on dirt ground. He looked this way and that, but he missed the fraction-of-a-second vision of his intended victim twenty yards away. Duval was befuddled by the apparent ease with which the accursed American could employ his magic.

* * *

The two teenage girls were inside of the police van that was surrounded by turbulence. Tabitha Smith , the youngest, wondered if having windows only in the back and the front of the cargo van was a blessing or a curse. She wanted and hated to see what was going on. The rusty-haired 13-year-old sat on one of the long vehicle's two benches clinging onto the arm of 17-year old Lorna Dane.

Being mutants did not exempt them from the bodily experiences that came from fright. Their hearts pounded fast; the small hairs on the back of their necks straighten with electricity. Their hearing ability had heightened to a peak, anxiously searching for outside sounds and voices.

Outside of the van they had strangers who promised to beat back the threats that were hounding the two girls. But they were only that—_strangers._ When things got too mean and too hot, would they still be there to defend the girls who they had no connections to?

On the inside of the vehicle, they only had their short 3-hour long friendship. Would it come down to every girl for herself? Would one run if the other was captured by their stalkers? And then there was that other immediate urgency that Lorna had to address.

"Easy on the arm," Lorna said. "You're cutting off my circulation."

"Shhh," Tabitha responded. She was desperately trying to decipher the events that were taking place outside… since it would immediately affect her safety.

_Shhh_, _nothing;_ Lorna had to get back the use of her left arm. She once heard that a loss of blood circulation could lead to the loss of her hand. The older girl tried to pull her arm away from the cemented fingers that had a strangle hold on it. Lorna had to finally push her head into Tabby's neck and mightily use her right hand's fingers to battle the other girl's fingers in rescuing her arm.

Just as the girls began to argue with themselves over the need of reassurance versus the need of blood flow, they heard a thump on the roof of the van.

_Wellllll,_ …. that pretty much put a dimmer into the little ray of hope that Lorna had. Seconds ago, the noise of the cyclone died. They heard the white-haired jerk talking about teaching maggots a lesson. Lorna understood that he was talking about their defenders. On the other hand, Tabitha never thought maggots were as smart as dogs. That Whitey-guy was going to be busy for a _looong_ time with those little decay-eaters …. maybe so long that he'd forget them.

They heard the woman who Whitey took along with him yell "Pietro." It didn't take much to figure out that _Pietro _was Whitey's name. The panic in her voice and the armored woman's shout of "Good" sounded marvelous to the girls. That meant that the two who chased them were getting clobbered. That was seconds ago, but now, upon hearing the noise on the roof ….

Lorne put one arm around her young friend and encouraged her with a fearful voice, "Get ready with those shiny explosives. Before the door fully opens, I'll magnetically push the van away and you throw those things.

"And if it's the metal lady or Giant-man?'

"Ehh," Lorna started. "Okay, let me think about that."

Tabitha was having doubts that the street-wise Lorna was wise at all. If it wasn't for the two superheroes outside, she would have been driven crazy with anxiety. Tabby knew that Lorna was frightened enough without her contribution, but the young girl could not keep her feeling bottled up.

"I'm scared," Tabitha said.

The seventeen-year-old fought back her own emotions and frowned. "Scared of what? You've got some impressive stuff going for you. What— didn't your folks show you how to defend yourself in a bad situation?

Right now, the only thing I remember my step-momma telling me was always have clean underwear in case of an accident."

"Oh, that's great," Lorna replied. "You can get squashed by a truck so bad that no one recognizes you, and all that's important is that the funeral parlor guys can say, 'But man, she sure has clean underwear.' "

"My step-momma made me promised to always have a clean pair, but if this here van begins to tumble roof over wheels, I don't think I'll be able to keep that promise."

Lorna thought to herself, "You and me both." Suddenly from the windshield they saw Giant-man tumbling backwards. They stood up from the bench and ran to the window. By the time they made it to the front, Giant-man was rolling away on the ground.

"Oh please, don't tell me he's been drinking," Tabitha pleaded. Lorna gave her a look of incredulity. The younger girl continued, "I saw him looking like he was dizzy. My dad falls back like that when he's drunk and he just rolls until he stops."

"Big as he is, I'll bet he won't stop until he's in Mexico."

Then something hit the sliding door so hard that the van shook. The insides echoed with the loud noise of the impact. They looked at each other, preparing for the van roll and their bodily reactions.

When they heard the metal woman loudly daring the "Scarlet Bitch" to get up, their smiles returned to their faces and their … eh, evidences of fear returned to their places as well.

When encouragement escapes from the chains of sustained fear, many times that courage comes out attired with the armor of rage.

"Beat her f- -king brains out," Lorna shouted from within the van.

"Yeah, break that Pietro's legs, too," Tabitha added.

"Get your globe-thingies ready," Lorna said. This time Tabby nodded.

* * *

Atop the Manhattan side of the Battery Tunnel Tony Stark had jumped up to his feet. Great concern had swatted away all contentment. Iron Man was tuned into two channels simultaneously. One was a nostalgia radio program; the second was the NYPD band.

The police had announced that a conglomerate of Meta-beings had appeared at the Triborough Bridge bomb check point and all hell had broken loose. That was where Giant-man and the Unicorn were stationed.

Stark could hardly swallow—_**Yolanda!**_

No matter what Giant-man said, he was sure that his new partner was the young Russian woman. Anger rose in his heart towards the complying Giant-man and his previously unconcerned self.

Tony had sworn to the dying Anton Vanko, that he would look after his daughter. All these months, he had relegated the job to his secretary and housed her… or rather, dumped her into Dr. Henry Pym's lap.

It was gross negligence on his part, he saw that now. And if this stake-out resulted in her harm, he didn't know what he would do.

"Iron Man to Giant-man. Come in, Giant-man."

"Presently occupied, Iron Man," Yolanda's voice came back to him. The relief was overwhelming.

Iron Man continued, "Reports are that things are bad up there. And I just heard the Sandman has joined the ruckus."

"I have the same frequency feed that you have, sir. I heard the Sandman had attack some patrol cars in the area, but he has not made an appearance here. We are on alert if he does. I must cut off our—"

"Listen, Unicorn, I'll make it up there in –"

"_**NOOO!**_ No sir. I'll tell you what I told Thor: _We can handle this_.

"You still have an important job to do. Help the police find and defuse those bombs. Our fight here is contained, but you are needed for the good of the entire city. Hold your post. We have the upper hand and we are in the closing minutes of the confrontation. That is all."

Stark shook his head. "Son of a gun. She was barking orders like seasoned pro… actually, apart from the "sir" part, she sounded like a Drill Sergeant…. And I was just a snot-nosed, droopy underwear, first-day recruit."

The nerve of that little… Well, she was right in what she said about holding down his post. And that irritating sass wasn't all that insufferable because it reflected a confidence that came with –as she indicated—a soon-to-be victory.

The third thing that enabled Stark to fight his urge to get over there was, he knew his Avenger-buddy. Even if Stark was ticked-off at him, he knew Giant-man would not let anything happen to her.

Iron Man moved his eyes downward. Well, now he had to really concentrate solely on the mission. He had spilled his 90 proof "coffee" on the ground.

* * *

That call came at the most inconvenient time and Yolanda hurriedly disconnected the link with Iron Man. She expected him to protest her command to stay in place. He was the experienced one of the two armored fighter, but she was in no mood for a debate.

Dressed in fine, but now soiled, white blouse and black slacks, the Scarlet Witch was sitting on the ground, two arm's length away from the Unicorn. The female mutant was trying to clear her head. And _oh boy_, did Yolanda want that. The enraged Yolanda had cut off her power level so that only her natural strength was powering her movements. She didn't need motorized strength, as her fists were ready to smash the mutant's face in after her cowardly attack on Yolanda's beloved Henry.

The Unicorn challenged the woman once more,"Come on, come on._ Get up! _You have this coming to you and I'm ready to deliver it."

The Scarlet Witch was rising slowly. Her head dangled almost lifelessly off her shoulders. Wanda's two hands, her left knee and her right foot were keeping the rest of her unsteady body off of the ground.

The Unicorn was sidetracked when she heard the degenerate woman's equally detestable brother moaning from on top of the van. If that meant that he was reviving, that was great. In the height of her emotion, Yolanda was aching to destroy a nose and mouth— it didn't matter if they belonged to Sister Sewer or Brother Bowel Movement. If both, all the better.

A few minutes ago, if one had told the Russian beauty that she could attain to such seething rage, she you have brushed those words away. But now, after all the trouble, the attempted murder and the betrayal that the mutant siblings resorted to, her hatred for the two burned hotter than an inferno. Images of tearing their heads off of their shoulders circled her head.

Aided by the long period of inactivity, Yolanda came to herself. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that the rage inside of her heart was nothing less than murderous. It made her no better than these two scums. The Unicorn would deal with them, but not in such a barbaric fashion.

Being impatient with the female mutant's progress to recover her balance, the Unicorn lifted off the ground. She was still angry enough to hope that Quicksilver's nose was ready to be introduced to her knuckles. His movements were methodical, careful. The jerk seemed to have need of more time to regain his wits, as did his cowardly sister.

An instant later, her eyes moved beyond the prone, green-costumed mutant. The heroine saw a police vehicle fly from left to right and hit a metal structure. That structure tipped over and a different full size sedan suddenly flipped into the air.

A wide-built, grey man wearing a bluish-grey swimming trunk ran across her field of vision in the same direction that the car's flight had taken. He shouted things that weren't clear: "foo-ell, Szor, die"— all of it incoherent.

The grey man took an unbelievably high jump that convinced Yolanda that this was a meta-being, not merely a body-painted lunatic. He landed on an area where the earthen ground pushed back the blacktop for space. The grey man began looking in every direction and swearing … Wait, Yolanda recognized the language. The man was _French_.

He may be trouble but, the Unicorn had to first deal with the two villains within her reach and then quickly find Giant-man.

The metal maiden re-engaged her mechanical strength to the level of about 30 horses. She then grabbed the belt of the Scarlet Witch's slacks and lifted her off of the pavement. The heroine's booster boots allowed her to rise above the ground with her prey.

Pulling on the back of the shirt portion of Quicksilver's jumper, the young heroine yanked the white-haired antagonist from the roof. She headed to a corner, half a block away, where there was a Stop sign.

The Unicorn placed them back to back in a sitting position in front of the sign. The stop sign, itself, was hanging loosely from its metal pole— no doubt thanks to the slimy speedster's little hurricane.

The Unicorn effortlessly whacked off the red and white octagon. She then proceeded to bend the metal pole around the dangerous sibling. She could hardly look at the two for fear that her great scorching anger would re-ignite. Barely conscious, Wanda gave out a grunt. Yolanda had unintentionally hurt her— "G_OOD!" _

Since that word initiated the Scarlet Witch's sucker-punch on Henry, Yolanda said it loud enough for her to hear. It was just a reminder as to why she got slammed against the van and barely escaped a bigger butt-kicking.

The Unicorn was still on one knee finishing the final twist of the pole, when she shot a look towards the police van behind her. She found the side door open. The two girls looked at her with wide eyes and opened mouths.

Yolanda stood up and threw out her hands to her side, with her palms up. "What are you doing?" the heroine shouted. The girls gave no response, so the Unicorn brushed her hand sidewise to tell then to close the van door. It was the same sign she had given the crazy Brygitka a little more than an hour ago on the roof of the penthouse. It worked just as well now.

The younger girl burst into a big smile and applauded wildly. The older looked at the younger and then she also released a happy celebratory clapping.

It was enough to afford Yolanda temporarily relief from her rage. The Unicorn made a playful curtsy and then she flew to the girls. At her elevation, she spotted action at a distance.

"_SPIDER-MAN!_ He's here?!"

To Yolanda, the arachnid-named hero appeared to be heaping webbings upon a shitless man; probably a street-dweller (Yolanda couldn't bring herself to say "derelict bum." That and "mentally disturbed" were what the Soviet officials called the free-thinkers, like her mother, before hauling them off to Retraining Camps.)

However strange his actions appeared, Yolanda was very thankful for the hero's change of heart.

The Unicorn told the teens, "Stay inside. As soon as I find Giant-man, I'll get the three of you to safety. I have to come back and see what is happening with Spider-man."

"Spider-man is here?" The younger girl asked excitedly. "Can we see him? Can we?"

"KEEP THE DOOR CLOSE. I'll see if I can get him to meet you later."

Before they could protest, the Unicorn slid the door closed with a push from her pinky.

* * *

_Okay, that last little stunt didn't work so well,_ Peter Park thought. Mighty Mutt was on his feet after Peter thought that his foe was finished. Spider-man was three-quarters of a block behind the Second Avenue-bound powerful house after thinking that his apparent victory should've been chronicled in pictures.

The hero took a tremendous jump from the street to the first lamppost. He took another to mount a second lamppost closer to his target.

At the mention of "the amazing Spider-man," a city-wide feud would erupt between supporters and those who viewed him as a threat. But it was the ignored 17-year-old Master of Science and Math behind the web-crawler's mask who was at work. He had figure out the angle, momentum and wind velocity needed to spray a wide field of clingy, sticky webbing in front of his silent opponent ; Peter would freeze his feet to the ground. With his foe rendered immoveable, Spider-man had a chance to think up something new.

The brilliant youth loaded two fresh web cartridges onto his wrist-shooters and he sprayed a wide and long blanket of webbing in an arch into the air.

_Oh, Dear Lord,_ Peter Parker said to himself. A twenty-foot –or so—robot had run diagonally in front of him and under his blanket of webbing.

It kept going, so it didn't pose a danger. Whatever that freaking thing was, it passed by while holding two cars. If it was Detroit publicity stunt, the marketers should consider a different job. They picked the wrong venue. On a slow day, midtown Manhattan had more people than this location ever had on its best day.

The momentarily humorous distraction did not disturb the steady stream of airborne webbing. The layers landed yards in front of the mutt, and true-to form, the fool had no intention of walking around it.

He probably saw it as a wall that he was challenged to walk through. But the shower of grey adhesive stopped before the stranger reached the site. Now in front of the mutt was the impassable …. _OH LORD IN HEAVEN, __**NOOO!**_

The stranger was actually kicking himself free. Chunks of the street were still attached to the soles of his shoes, but he was going forward.

The hero brought his right hand to his forehead and lamented, "This isn't your day, Parker. It isn't your day."

The preoccupation with the threat that he could see kept Spider-man from figured out that his spider-sense was really alerting him to an enemy— a grainy enemy— who he had hasn't seen. The new foe was sifting down upon the hero from above. It wasn't clearly defined, but something like a giant-hand was reaching down to capture Spider-man's head in an apparent attempt to smother his breathing orifices and nose.

Ironically, the powerful Mighty Mutt indirectly saved Spider-man. The remarkable teen was single-mindedly intent on stopping the _seen_ menace. He leaped forward towards his target just as the longest sandy finger brushed the top of his head.

A frustrated yell rang out behind Spider-man, but now wasn't the time to investigate where it came from.

A meager web line came out of his almost spent left wrist shooter. It was enough to swing him over to his foe, but he would have to reload pronto. He reached the apex of his swing and a thin shot from his right wrist went out to the street lamp just above the stranger. This was it. He was purposely swinging into a collision course with…. Oh no.

The sense of danger came from his right. He let go of the thread and dropped to the ground. In the exact spot where his torso would have been if he had continued his course, something whizzed by with a strange buzz. A second later, those amazingly powerful legs cushioned his landing.

Spider-man looked in the direction where he guessed that flying object came from.

He saw the Grey Gargoyle—Stone-butt— a little more than a block away lifting a police car. Well whatever the projectile was, it must have come from him. Whoa— he's in a tossing mood. Mr. Stony was spinning around throwing whatever he could find. He seemed to have saved the bigger debris for the metal giant who was advertising cars.

Maybe Gargoyle-guy was a German Auto fan? Oh well, the dude in the machine was well insulated. Spider-man had to take care of business on his side of the street.

* * *

The presumptuous teenager was wrong when he figured that the Grey Gargoyle had hurled the buzzing object at him. But the sand cloud that followed Spider-man actually located the source. A long arm of hardened sand stretched forward and grabbed a strong tree limb. The arm whipped the cloud in the direction of a roof over a two-story structure located many yards to the right of a fool who was dressed up as a statue.

* * *

An arrow with a powerful suction-tip hit the bricked wall above the top window of an abandoned three-story warehouse on 124th Street. The small motor on the steel arrow reeled in the attached hair-thin wire. This allowed Hawkeye access to the adjacent two-story roof of what was once an auto repair shop.

The archer wanted a good angle from which to finish off Iron Man's oversized, over-rated Avenger pal.

As if he couldn't believe his luck, there was the big clown. Laid out on the street like dog sh –t behind a sort of metal man. The robotic thing was holding a car in each hand like they were mittens.

It didn't matter, Hawkeye had to run to the other side of the roof to get around the robot and get a clear shot at Giant-man.

The aspiring assassin fixed his acid-bottle arrow to his bow-string. But before he could pull on his bow something wide and smoky-colored ran towards the Avenger and it was carrying a police car.

Hawkeye hesitated at seeing the curious sight. What the hell? Was this a car-lifting contest? The grey thing threw the vehicle at his competitor and the robot tipped over. One car twisted free from its grip and twirled in the air before falling earthward.

This smoky man-thing kept running and then it took a powerful leap that Barton could not believe was humanly possible. He was going to come down on his target.

OH NO, HE'S NOT! THE GIANT WAS HAWKEYE'S GAME TO BAG!

He pulled back on his bow, confident that his acid arrow could beat the grey man-thing to the giant, but then…

_THE F - -KING BASTARD DISAPPEARED!_

The grey figure mirrored Hawkeye's frustrated foot-stomping and his bewildered arm stretches towards the sky. That thing… THAT THING made Giant-man disappeared. If the cowardly giant had not been charged by that….

Clint Barton drew his bow again. He lost his target because of that stone-man thing. And he was going to pay. The arrow shot straight and true, but it bounced off the Gargoyle's stony hide without his notice.

Hawkeye then threw a bigger fit. He had planned kill the Avenger and make his beloved Natasha swoon over his superior masculinity. She would've stayed awake longer this night. He was going to have an extra taste of her bedroom talents, but now… NOW…

In his pacing and spinning, the archer spotted Spider-man on a lamppost spreading a large blanket, of some sort. Spider-man finished and the hero appeared as if he was ready to advance towards Second Avenue.

_Well, this wasn't going to be a total lost._ Barton said to himself. The coward, Giant-man, will eventually show up. Right now Hawkeye had his sights set on another trophy.

With two heroes dead at Hawkeye's hand, his temptress will surely reward him until dawn—yes, sir. Barton's fingertips identified the markings of his electrocution arrow. He pulled again on his bow.

"Good-bye Spider-man."

_Incredible!_ Barton's eyes bulged. His _**sure-hit**_ unexpectedly dropped to the ground and his electrically charged arrowhead just kept sailing through the air.

Again ,the short-tempered marksman cursed, flagged his arms and stomped. But just as Spider-man had failed to notice, the perfect vision of distracted Hawkeye had not spotted an angry sand cloud heading his way.

* * *

Charging back to his bounder-hard adversary, Dr Pym was on top of his steed—a fast flying winged ant. He held tightly to her, fearing that a stronger bout of dizziness would soon come calling. Below him was a small collection of flying ants that could perform a last minute rescue if he fell. Behind him was his cavalry—the unlikely legion of Wasps and ants.

Hank Pym had a hunch. The Grey Gargoyle's body was made up of impenetrable stone, but what about his eyes? The sclera around his two dark iris' were still white. It was an educated guess to take this supposed path to victory. But torpedoing the Gargoyle's face was still going to be a high-mortality risk plan for the Avenger. The Gargoyle's first instincts would be to quickly defend his eyes with powerful swats from his rock-hard hands.

And what if his eyes were just as stony? Hank's aggressive attack, and possible death, would've been for nothing. There was no turning back, though. Either the Gargoyle or the Ant-man was going down within the next few seconds.

* * *

Spider-man leaped forward. There was trepidation in the youth. This fight had all the appearances of a marathon. There was a real fear that didn't come from realizing the power of his opponent, but from his own potential.

In the past he had traded punches in tough fights. The longer the battle took, the more blows he had suffered, the more enraged he became. The last time that Dr. Octopus and Spider-man were wailing away at each other, a fire broke out in the building where the battle took place. But before the flames ended it, the rage within Doctor Octopus was beginning to infect him. He didn't know where it would've ended the fight,Peter himself losing control and it frightened him. He was Spider-man— he wasn't faster than a speeding bullet, nor was he able to leap over tall buildings with a single bound… but yes, he _**could**_ bend steel with his hands. If through weariness, Dr. Octopus allowed him to get close to his head, would he have crushed it like an eggshell?

Peter needed a plan. He couldn't go out there and trade punches blindly, or things would turn ugly, win or lose. The mighty youth took another leap forward and then he stopped a way before reaching his intended target. Something huge and round was coming from the main intersection. It wasn't as big as the stupid metal man— it was rolling towards the mutt.

It stopped. Peter was spellbound to see that this humongous sphere sprouted a head, chubby legs and arms. It was a ball-shaped man. He had a white t-shirt and tan shorts— each looked like they could double as a circus tent.

He stopped a few feet before the stranger. The round figure was looking away towards his left, obviously he was curious about Stone-butt and the mechanical duffis. But the fat guy was oblivious to the powerhouse who was walking his way.

As Mighty Mutt looked a head taller than Spider-man, likewise the powerful stranger probably reached the ball-shape mass of humanity's chin— his lower chin.

Peter's mind flashed with remembrance upon studying the guy's face. His fear for the guy eased greatly as he recalled a few newspaper ads announcing a circus arrival. Presumably possessing the same durability and strength of that overgrown guacamole, one performer was billed as the "Non-Hulk Hulk."

If the round fellow was who he thought he was, Spider-man was going to get there a little slower. He could pull back and hatch a good plan to drop his opponent while the mutt exhausted himself knocking heads with the newcomer. HOO BOY! This was going to be the fight of the century.

_Hold on, hold on_. The Blob was an awesome adversary, but Peter hadn't any proof that he was an experience fighter. The frustrated youth sighed and crouched. Spider-man had no choice but to go forward into battle before devising a scheme.

The youth froze yet again. For what appeared to be the umpteenth time, his senses tingled— something was coming at him again and it was fast.

No wait! TWO things were coming.

* * *

Post Script:

Before this tale, Spider-man's last tangle with Dr, Octopus was Spider-man # 11 (1964). His fear of losing control at that time is an original concept.

Thanks for your patience. This update was a long time coming. The end of the battle is already planned, so don't think that I have a writer's block. No, my tardiness stems from a more serious nature. Please stay with me as these next few chapters will hopefully be no more than two weeks apart. After that, I hope to get back into the rhythm of things (Wednesday and/or Sunday updates). Again, MANY THANKS.

-HC


	24. Chapter 24: Victory Runs Faster Than

Chapter 24: Victory Runs Faster Than Her Pursuers.

Spider-man was standing upon the extended arm of a city lamp post. He was expecting a slugfest to take place just 60 feet away from him. Now, it didn't matter how awesome the Blob's strength was, he wasn't going to let the supposed inexperienced mutant trade punches with the powerful stranger.

And there they were. The two men found themselves staring at each other. Thankfully nothing was happening and Spider-man thought that the mutt's distraction is what he needed.

Spider-man prepared to leap forward when his defensive instincts went crazy. He flipped back and away from the street lamp. In the middle of the backwards somersault, the youth bent his neck so that between his feet, his eyes could view his former perch. Instantly, a second quick-flying, buzzing object darted into the space where his chest would have been if he had remained there. This time his eyes recognized it as an _arrow_.

"_HOLY CRAP!_ Don't tell me there's a whack-o Robin Hood wannabe on the loose."

All at once, there was an explosion of light that had the blinding brilliance of a lighthouse beacon. The arrow, the lamp post, everything vanished behind a blanket of white searing light.

Spider-man was temporarily blinded, but instincts took over so that he knew when to flex his joints in order to cushion his landing on the years-neglected sidewalk. When his eye sight cleared, Spider saw that the top of the street lamp was gone.

* * *

The Unicorn's booster boots glided her over to the other side of the van where the widely built, grey meta-being was cussing uncontrollably. Her peripheral vision caught something to the right. At a distance, staying about two feet above the ground, she saw a fast moving haze heading her way. Her memory flashed back to the other times when she had seen the same sight. The haze, or dark vapor, was really an air force of flying ants. But now there also were larger members included in this charge of the _very_ light brigade. Henry must have summoned the wasps, as well.

Yolanda cheered behind her mask. This cooperative gathering of two different and competing species gave evidence that Ant-man was fine and in full possession of his thoughts.

The Unicorn turned back to the crazed stone man who was throwing whatever he could in every direction. The heavier blocks of sidewalk he had hurled at the animated structure that was getting to its feet. On closer examination, that metal construction looked like an over-sized fish bowl mounted on top of a comic book-style large robot. She raised her eyebrows upon discovering that there was a man inside of the _fish bowl_.

She turned her attention once again to the oncoming minuscule air force. The Unicorn readied herself to launch an attack to back up the legion of insects. She was confident that her beloved knew which one of the two strange figures was the threat. Suddenly the "haze" had stopped advancing.

The heroine was taken aback by something that she found rather cute in the face of a dire circumstance. The insects began to form words. Evidently, Henry didn't have enough ants and wasps to finish his warning, but Yolanda knew that "get bac" was a message telling her to distance herself from the two beings.

She would comply. But her curiosity moved her to find out why the statute-man abandoned his sanity.

* * *

The Ant-man had halted his airborne combatants. He was concerned that Yolanda was caught between a dangerous, stony nutcase and a second, powerful-looking entity who could have been just as volatile.

He didn't want to devote his entire resources on assaulting the Grey Gargoyle's eyes only to leave Yolanda vulnerable to a potential attack coming from behind her.

Through his cybernetic impulses, Ant-man stationed his winged assembly into groups. He had them spell out a warning to the Unicorn. The width of the letters was thick, so as to be seen well. Ant-man discovered that he hadn't enough insects to finish the last letter in "_get back_." He could give up the first word to finish the second. But he winced at the thought that if there was a lull in the fighting, Yolanda would protest, _Do you think I'm so stupid that I can't figure out the message without the k?_

Well, maybe he **_did_** need that "K". He was surprised to see Yolanda glide towards the crazy Gargoyle. Still, she kept a good distance. She said something to the madman that sounded in Hank's ear like: _Meh- s'your, cal-may voo, see voo play._ _Poo-qua et voo fa-shay?"_

* * *

**Author's note**: The French words were NOT written as they would appear in French writings. They were written to reflect American Mid-States English in an attempt to achieve pronunciations as close as possible to the words. Here are further clarifications: "Et"—e as in _edit_. "Fa-shay"— fa as in _far_.

* * *

The Ant-man thought that she had probably said _Sir,_ _calm yourself, please. _And she just barely finished the question,_ Why are you angry? _Then she was cut off by the Gargoyle. Not surprisingly, the grey meta-being responded with words too fast and vehement for Hank to follow.

The young Russian linguist's reply was equally fast and emotionally charged.

The 1/16th of- an-inch hero became alarmed when the Gargoyle ran threateningly towards her. The Ant-man's forces sped forward to intercept the stone-man. Suddenly, the giant robot behind the Unicorn jumped up. With a backhanded sweep, it swatted the heroine away. Obviously, the man in control of the thing wanted a showdown with the Gargoyle; he saw the Unicorn merely as an insignificant obstacle in his way. Still, he hit her hard. That was something that Henry Pym wasn't going to take lightly. The Ant-man commanded a halt to most of his followers.

The Gargoyle had initially stopped in his tracks. When the Asian man hurled a challenge, the French terror eagerly accepted. Xu and Duval then raced towards each other. Before the two mighty figures could begin their battle, a thirty-foot Giant-man shockingly appeared between them. He was in the middle of a jump with his knees bent. As fast as a wink, his right foot shot out to the side to catch Duval's face and upper chest, while his left foot made contact with the robot man's torso. Both antagonists flew backwards because of the powerful kicks. Before gravity pulled him down, Giant-man just as abruptly disappeared.

The unshaken Unicorn flew back to the scene very amused. Her Henry had heroically responded to the attack upon her. She steadied herself in one spot preparing for an arrival on one of her shoulders. She didn't have to wait long.

"Don't let the Grey Gargoyle touch you." Ant-man said. "He'll transform you into"— Yolanda and Henry said the last two words together—"a statue."

"So that's him .… the Gargoyle?" Yolanda asked. But the Ant-man was no longer on her shoulder to give the answer that she already knew.

The Unicorn's eyes followed the grey brawler as he continued to bounce in the opposite direction. Yolanda had to laugh when he finally stopped— Duval's face was on the ground and his butt was in the air. She turned around when she heard Henry's voice loud and clear.

"You like hitting a woman?" Giant-man had reappeared in front of the huge fallen robot. The crimson hero continued, "And with her back to you? … Well, Mr. Courageous, I'm going to make sure you never do that again."

The Unicorn was well equipped to defend herself. Still, it thrilled Yolanda that Henry was wildly furious that she had been struck.

Giant-man's plan was simple: Lift the robot upside down and ram the domed area continually against the ground. Once it cracked, the wasps that had followed him into battle were going to have a field day on the coward inside of the plexiglass casing. But as Giant-man held the robot against his body and prepared to drop to one knee, the dizziness returned.

* * *

From his rooftop vantage point, the villain, Hawkeye, shot a second electronically charged arrow at Spider-man. Again the red-and blue adventurer dodged it. And something unexplainable happened. Something like a lightning bolt struck the street lamp that Spider-man had stood upon. _Lightning in a sunny, nearly cloudless day? _

Hawkeye instinctively closed his eyes when it flashed. Upon reopening them he saw that the lamp was destroyed. The hero, though, was on the ground, safe and sound. It was obvious that his electrocution arrow could never have generated that huge bright light. If it was a freak power surge from the lamp's electric current, it wasn't important to the masked man.

Barton angrily snarled, "F - - k it! That spider-sense thing wasn't bull sh – t, after all."

The frustrated archer would have to settle for the eventual reappearance of Giant-man. That may be the only sure way for him to obtain his prize …. a longer bedroom session with Natasha Romanov. Hawkeye had to control his temper and ready himself for the big jerk's appearing.

But there was one individual's presence that the masked man wasn't prepared for.

A surprised Clint Barton took two steps back in response to what was transpiring in front of him. A large cluster of sand came down from the sky. It became a man. … A man who Barton suddenly recognized from old newspaper photos.

"Yyyyour Flint Marko."

"Three cheers fer ya, bright boy. Wha'd'hell wuz dat about? … Wha' ever big street rep ya think yer gonna get, or however great ya already think ya are, stay atta dis. Spider-man is _my_ nail ta hammer."

Clint recovered and replied. "Hey A - - hole, I was just"—Barton leaned forward—"_tesssting_ my electrocution arrow." — he returned to an upright stand— "Spider-man wasn't my real target— just practice. But now that you're _ordering_ me to back off, I won't.

"I don't take orders from anybody, least of all a talking sand box."

Sandman smirked and replied, "Oh, a f - - kin' Big Man, huh? … Well, no matter how much ya try, ya'll never be more of a man than yer momma.

"Get yer f - - kin' a – s atta here and don't come back until Halloween, masked man. If ya don't scat, I'll pound ya so hard dat people won't be able ta tell da difference between you-z an' dog sh – t. Come ta think of it, I'm havin' trouble tellin' da difference right now."

To emphasize how seriously the Sandman was about not tolerating interference, Marko transformed his hand into a hard mallet, half the size of Barton. He slammed it loudly and impressively down in front of the archer. The power display forced Hawkeye to jump back and crash against the wall of the neighboring building.

Seething with indignant anger, Hawkeye reached for an explosive arrow and pulled back on his bow. But the insulting Sandman had already granulated and he was surfing the wind towards his real foe.

The frustrated Barton had only his cusses to fall back on as consolation. "Who the f - - k does that pile of sh – t think he is? I'll break his motherf…. "

* * *

To Zhi Ming Xu, it felt like days ago when he strapped himself onto the chair of the Thinker's man-machine, in that fake delivery truck. Because of that act of precaution, Xu wasn't a mound of flesh and bone within the dome after Giant-man's savage kick had struck.

Presently, Xu helplessly watched the machine's legs spread in opposite directions as the robot uncontrollably rolled head-over- butt away from the Gargoyle and the crafty Giant-man. The bounces that the machine was subjected to were hard enough to rattle Xu's teeth.

The robot finally stopped, face down. The young communist was angrier than ever. He swore that the Avenger would pay dearly for this indignation. After finishing him off, he would utterly destroy the grey man.

The mechanical arms pushed the robot off of the ground. Xu didn't know why he looked away towards that other battle, but he did.

He saw that strange man with a crew cut— the man with shining eyes who had followed behind him into battle, and then suddenly stopped. The Caucasian's smile was broad and definable even from far away. The man's hands began to glow, but Xu could no longer be distracted from his enemy. From out of nowhere, Giant-man was upon him.

Giant-man yelled. Then miraculously, an all-consuming white flash appeared accompanied by an incredibly loud sound. The light caused the robot's manager to blink. That was just long enough to enable the accursed capitalist swine to lift him upside down.

The control panel was within Xu's reach. He was about to test his machine's arm strength by prying the arms of the imperialist pig away from him. Suddenly, the American dog was gone and his machine fell earthward. Strapped in or not, the impact still injured the young communist scientist.

The chair's shoulder straps held him in place. But having no restraint for his cranium, his head was still falling when the rest of his body had abruptly stopped. This caused a bad strain upon the neck portion of his spine. The huge metal man lay motionless for a minute, as the man within the robot tried to recover from the pain and disorientation.

* * *

Frederick Dukes— the Blob— rolled his way closer to the chaotic scene. In his heart he will always be a circus performer, but the excitement of the battle possessed him. There was an adrenaline-high that he hadn't experienced since the days when he fought against the X-men.

Dukes stopped to look at the action towards the south; there the mutants whom he remembered as "Quicksilver" and the "Scarlet Witch" were being carried off by that flying metal creature. Over to their right, Giant-man, that statue-thing, and a huge man-shaped machine all took turns tumbling on the ground.

Duke's fists were unconsciously pumping up and down in front of him. He was so involved with the action that he failed to notice the silent, almost zombie-like figure who was getting close to him. It was the one who Spider-man mockingly referred to as _Mighty Mutt._

The quiet power house stopped more than an arm's length away from the Blob. He appeared to be analyzing the enormous, round, strange sight before him—was it human?

Instinctively feeling eyes upon him, the Blob turned around. He finally saw the emotionless stranger. At first, Dukes was started at seeing the man so close to him. Then, feeling like he was sneaked-up upon, he felt annoyed. He tried to hide his displeasure with a forced smile. When the stranger took a long step forward and stared at him with what Frederick considered an _I'm-better-than-you_ look, the big man released his anger.

"What's your problem, d – ck face?"

The man in the tattered jumpsuit turned his body away. He appeared to have begun an attempt to walk around the Blob at a safe distance. Dukes mistakenly thought that he had stared down the stranger. That assumed triumph would soon be proven wrong.

The Blob heard a strange electric humming noise over his head and it continued to pass him. Brushing off the presumed scared man's presence, Duke's eyes darted up. Then, using his ear's navigation, Fred tried to follow the trail of the mysterious noise.

He once again was looking at the back of the head of the arrogant, but cowardly bastard. The man unexpectedly took a backwards step in the Blob's direction and speedily swung the hands that he had clamped together. The swing was faster that the eye could follow.

His wall-breaking, two-handed hammer blow connected to the left side of Frederick's head. Upon impact there was a loud, near-deafening sound. For a spit-second, all color fled the world around Frederick.

The blow was so strong that the rotund mutant found his head on the ground as he felt the rest of his body completed a cartwheel. When he landed on his hands and knees, he was facing the opposite direction of Second Avenue and his assailant.

_THIS COULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED,_ his mind screamed in denial. Not even the Beast—the X-man with the strength of 30 men– had been able to floor him.

It took a few seconds for the Blob to clear his head and rekindle his anger. He was caught unaware by the tremendous, unearthly strength of the stranger. But Frederick was determined that it wasn't going to happen again.

As for that loud blast that made his ears ring, it could not have been due to the contact of hands-to-face. It sounded more like a lightning strike. Sure, … that must have been it. Frederick had also seen a great white light bathe his surroundings when the blow connected. Frederick wasn't going to compliment the jerk by attributing that visual effect to his fists.

And son-of-a-gun— when Frederick lifted his head from between his arms, his eyes were captured by the stem of a ruined lamppost. The last few sparks were flying out from its hollow opening. It was an electric explosion, of sorts. Question one was settled, now for question two— should he send _D - -k Face_ to the hospital or the funeral home.

Fred turned his head to see the sucker-punching, dog-vomit continue his calm stroll towards Second Avenue. Suddenly, something or someone landed behind him, but that was inconsequential. Frederick Dukes was on a mission of ego-redemption.

From his hands and knees, the Blob reformed himself into a ball.

* * *

A while ago, the bomb inspection area had become a combat zone. Law enforcement was not only deployed for crowd control, but also to organize a coordinated response by the NYPD and FBI. In all the commotion— and before the barricades were set up— six gunmen side-winded their way into the area. Their sinister intention was to free one combatant from distractions.

* * *

Spider-man looked at the destroyed street lamp. Only one person could have done that and also release that blinding light. But it _couldn't_ have been.

His spider-senses guided him to his right. A familiar face about half a block away gave him a mock salute and yelled, "Just a calling card, baby." He ended his taunt with a near melodic, "I'm baaack!"

With that, he turned. The man's arms reached up for the bridge's steel cables high above and to his left. The man rose up as if he was a helicopter.

Max Dillon—Electro— was out of prison. "Oh great," Spider-man said. "And now he can use electro-magnetism to get away."

But letting Dillon _get away_ was what had to happen. The high voltage hurler wasn't hanging around for a fight and Mighty Mutt was still advancing towards the main intersection.

Spider-man took a forward leap and landed right behind the Blob. It wasn't one of his quieter landings. Spider-man wondered if the unresponsive Blob even heard him touch down. It would have been a great chance for him to turn around and ask for help from the amazing youth.

But apparently, the Blob wasn't the least bit interested in a tag-team partner. Instead, the mighty mutant rounded his body and shot forward as fast as a dragster. It was a maneuver that Peter had employed many times before. But now Peter had to admit that with the extra speed that his body's roundness gave the Blob, that move belonged to the mutant.

He should have called out to the guy, but something told Spider-man to hold tight and only offer help if the Blob actually needed it.

The mountainous mutant stopped behind Mighty Mutt and lunged for the back of the stranger's ankle. The Blob immediately got up to his feet, causing the stranger to go down face first.

Spider-man smiled; great minds think alike. So…. Let's see what the big guy can do.

* * *

When Frederick Dukes reached his target, the spherical dynamo dove for his foe's heel. The silent figure who had hurled a soda delivery truck at policemen was, himself, hopelessly lifted up into the air.

The angry Blob proceeded to swat him against the ground. It was a continuous motion, like an after-school cartoon show. The stranger hit the ground to Frederick's right; then he was whipped over the man-mountain's head; the silent power house landed on his face to the Frederick's left; and then he was taken up and back to the Blob's right.

After nearly twenty seconds, Fred let go of his catch in mid-swing. The _d - -k face_ went sailing and almost hit ….. _Spider-man?_

"What in hell was he doing here?" Fred asked himself.

Spider-man straightened his body to an upright position. The wall-crawler then held up his hands in an attempt to slow down the Blob.

"Outta my way," Dukes hollered as he ran by the young hero.

The Blob's strength had allowed his opponent to land a good distant away. Naturally, he was able to sit up before Fred could reach him. _"NO YA DON'T!" _Frederick yelled.

The mutant strong man needed the jerk to be flat on the ground for his next feat. Frederick Dukes picked up the nearest thing to him— a tire that had fallen away from a damaged police car. He threw it with all his might.

The car wheel hit its target with an indescribable force that would have overturned a city bus. The thunderous sound was still echoing through the air when the tire bounced off the stranger and sped away like a rocket. The silent fighter's upper body smashed backwards to the ground just as Fred had anticipated. The impact also caused his body to skid away an extra 70-plus feet. That provided an unexpected benefit for the Blob, who was building up a head of steam in his body-roll.

The confrontation between the two strong men would have lasted longer had the Blob not made a tactical mistake. When he got close enough, the round power-pack unrolled his body just when his feet hit the ground. The Blob leaped up. In attempting to land upon his enemy and squash him under his weight, the mutant _Non-Hulk_ _Hulk _also surrendered his most essential mutant power. In the face of a threat, his feet could mysteriously cement themselves to any ground he stood upon.

Right then, his leap awarded the mutant's feet only air to grasp. On the other hand, the stranger's feet were awarded with the Blob's large stomach. With bent knees, the downed strongman's feet received his opponent's bulk. Quicker than a cobra could strike, he straightened his legs. With the added strength of his upper body— as evidenced when only the stranger's shoulder was touching the floor—the quiet combatant kicked the round revenge-seeker away. The Blob flew and bounced a very long distance. Imprisoned in this speedy backwards travel, Frederick was angry at himself for not seeing that coming.

He was unhurt when he finally stopped twenty yards away from a strange sight. When Frederick's feet contacted the ground to halt his movement, he saw that giant metal thing fall on its head. Fred was burning inside for a rematch with his own foe. But he wasn't so possessed that a question couldn't quickly pass his mind: That fall that the metal man had, was it supposed to scare his enemies or make them laugh?

* * *

Barton was so consumed by his rage that he almost missed seeing the red-garbed Avenger. Giant-man had held the metal man upside down. Perfect!

Hawkeye only had the grenade arrow stretched across his bow. He reached behind his head to take out the acid-head arrow from his quiver, but then decided that he would use the weapon that was ready. That momentary delay was enough to allow Giant-man to disappear again. The metal man went down hard.

Clint Barton cursed and slapped his right thigh in rage once again. The tree-sized bastard will turn up again, Hawkeye was sure of it. Meanwhile to ease his frustration, Hawkeye wanted to either blast that hovering metal big-boob female, or turn back to Spider-man as a dare for Marko to confront the archer again.

Spider-man was the better choice— finishing off the metal broad would tip Giant-man that another menace was close by. Hawkeye had to rely on the hunter's advantage of surprise. Shooting at the distant Spider-man was the safest route to take in order to remain undetected.

* * *

Seconds ago she had heard a thunder clap and the great, short-lived light. She dismissed it as another erratic weather feature of a New York summer. The Unicorn had a bigger concern.

Paying no attention to the hunk of junk that had previously stuck her from behind, Yolanda flew to where Giant-man once stood. He had the robot dangling upside down and then …

Did he suffer another dizzy spell? Did he injure himself lifting the heavy robot? She had to find out.

She spoke into her helmet to activate a homing devise that could pick up the cybernetic helmet of Ant-man. Inside of her face mask, above her right eye were mounted three thin, but powerful magnifying glasses. The first had the amplified view of the best binocular; the second, of the best mobile telescope; the last— the one that she chose to drop over her right eye— had the 90-times magnification feature of a microscope.

She found the Ant-man some yards from where he was last seen. He was sitting down on an ant, with his hands covering his eyes. Still possessing the strength of 30 horses, the Unicorn effortlessly and gingerly scooped up the ground around her beloved and the ant.

"Henry, dearest, are you're still dizzy?" Only after those words left her mouth did she realize that she had released two syllables that could cause her embarrassment—"dearest."

But he looked so out-of-it that he probably didn't hear the word. But even if he did, the awkwardness that she would have suffered was secondary to her desire to protect him and get him away from the battle.

Ignoring her question, the Ant-man asked his own— _Where were the Robot-man and the Gargoyle_? Only after she responded that they were down, did he answer her inquiry.

"I just need some time." He said. "You shouldn't concentrate on me and let your guard down."

In an ironic turn, he expressed a concern that mirrored Yolanda's distress — "Get yourself and the girls to safety. I'll take it from here."

"Not for all the money in the world, Mr. Pym," she replied in anger. "We're a team. If I leave, you will, also."

"I don't believe this. You are just too stubborn for your own good."

"Then we're a match, aren't we? I guess the two stubborn mules will have to look after each other. We don't have time to argue this point. We'll just have to settle on devising a team plan for conquest. It can't be too hard. Not against these two apparent simpletons."

She lifted off the ground to avert a surprise attack from the men she was speaking about. Suddenly, a round-shaped being bounced into the scene.

To Yolanda, he looked unhurt, but very ang- _Wait, is that the Blob?_

She stiffened a little and aimed the repulsor disc on her free hand.

Not knowing what to expect, the Unicorn also kept an eye on the police van where the two teenage girls hid themselves.

The Ant-man was still in her hand, so he hadn't notice the newcomer. The Unicorn wanted to withhold that information until the Blob actually instigated something. Why stir up the weaken Henry Pym unnecessarily?

The Ant-man continued, "I don't know about the Asian fellow, but the Gargoyle is not a dummy."

"Eh .. What did you two say to each other?"

Yolanda responded, "I just wanted to calm him down and he called me many things, including a whore-dog. I lost my composure and called him a dirty, dangling pig testicle that was only good at being covered with feces that came out of the end of the hog that looked like his face."

He asked, "And that's when he charged towards you? I wonder why?" Henry then tilted his head back laughed. He seemed to temporarily forget their dire situation. But it was good that he had recovered from his lightheadedness.

"And you gloriously came to my defense" Yolanda replied before joining in the laughter.

"Yes, I did. But looking back, I don't know if you need defending— well, certainly not verbally. Wow, you're a wild cat."

"You disapprove?" she asked fearlessly— she already knew his response, judging from his hearty laugh.

"Are you kidding? I'm only sorry that we only spoke about inventions and intellectual pursuits, and I almost forgot this hilarious side of you."

"_Annd_ business partnership'" she added.

"How could I forget that? _Vanko and Pym, Inc."_

This wasn't the time to argue that she wanted his name first on the company logo. It was comforting enough to look forward to the day when her plan produced fruit and the corporation's name would be simply, _Pym, Inc.;_ …. and Mrs. Yolanda Pym would be President and Administrative Manager.

The duo's mutual felling of warmth had to be put aside as both heroine and hero knew that the fight wasn't over.

What they didn't know was that the Gargoyle was right behind the nearest overturned police car to the van. Being on its side the vehicle provided good cover.

What a fool that metal bitch was to had turned her back to him. Duval was planning to make one more dash and make it to the police van. From that close range he could execute his victory on both of the idiots.

* * *

"Oh well," Spider said. "That was exciting while it lasted."

The Blob had put up a better fight than Peter had expected. When the Blob took the stranger by his heel and swung him, Peter smiled— it was the same body part of the mutt that Spider-man aimed for. But, unfortunately, due to either lack of battle skills or overconfidence, the Blob was bounced far away by the stranger's two-legged kick.

That wasn't to say that the powerful Non-Hulk Hulk wouldn't return for another round. Spider-man still didn't know if the rotund mutant had fighting experience. And if he came back while Peter stayed on the sidelines, it wouldn't be right.

Two leaps later, the amazing youth was right behind the silent power house. Spider-man upended him with a mighty side-sweep of his powerful right leg. His face hit the ground hard for the umpteenth time. Standing over him, Spider-man thought that he might extend his, eh, sympathy.

'Wassa-matter, boobish-ky? Do you have that run down feeling where your face just constantly kisses the ground? Does it leave your mouth with that nasty soil-taste? Has it gone on so long that the worms now know you on a first name bases? Have people begun asking you why don't you just rent yourself out as an outdoor carpet?

And for that reason had your wife left your home a month ago saying she was going out to pick up Chinese take-out… the take-out came to your door fifteen minutes later, but she hasn't yet?

"Is that what's bothering you, puddin' pie?"

He never got his answer. From a kneeling position the stranger leaped upon him. With lighting reaction, Spider-man went down to a crouched position as his foe sailed over him. Spider-man turned around in time to see the silent stranger hit the ground once more.

"There you go again, buttercup. Let's seriously think about a career change. Why don't you stay down there? I'll place some patio furniture on top of you, and we'll see how you look?"

The strong man jumped up and advanced towards Spider-man.

_Great!_ At least he was heading away from Second Avenue. The youth backtracked until they were both approximately where they had started. The soda truck that Mighty Mutt had thrown previously was Spider-man's marker.

Spider-man spun his right foot around himself with blinding speed. The foot came around to make contact with the mutt's jaw. The incredible force would have smashed a solid metal door. It had enough force to shoot the powerful stranger's head back and push his whole body away. His backward travel looked eerie. His back remained parallel to the ground. His knees were bent like a baseball catcher, while his toes refused to surrender its contact with the ground. Finally, the mutt began slowing down.

"Hmm, he'll probably stop at thirty-five feet," Spiderman remarked when he saw the length of the skid marks made by his enemy's cheap shoes. "The Blob's tire-in-the face-trick was more impressive."

When the stranger stopped, his knees hit the ground. His butt rested on his heels. His back was still elevated a few inches off the ground. Two seconds later, he brought his torso upright. That unchanged, expressionless face sent a new chill into the heroic teenager.

The zombie-like strong man leaped forward with a jump that even Peter would have been proud to call his own. This time Spider-man decided that he would not dodge him. His fist would meet his opponent's face as a reward for his quick recovery.

A tremendous right cross had jerked the strangers face away just as his right hand had grasped Spider-man's neck. The incredible force behind Spider-man's punch had sent the recipient flipping in the air. The fact that the stranger had not surrendered his grip on the youth resulted in Spider-man also leaving his feet. Once again the two spun in the air. The stranger made one complete spin to get his feet onto the blacktop. With his new leverage, he then rammed the crusader's body down to the ground with a loud, punishing smash.

Peter kicked up both knees so fast that a trained eye would have judged their the speed at Mark 4. He connected to his foe's derriere and sent him sailing over Peter's head.

Spider-man was glad that his neck was freed before the powerhouse had a chance to squeeze tighter. There were bad aches on his throat, just under his ears. That was where the stranger began to increase pressure.

But it didn't compare to the rising back pain that made him recognize the amazing force begind the powerful throw-down. And damn, THE PAIN WAS GETTING BAD!

* * *

Inside of the police van, Loran felt frustrated. That feeling emboldened her to try to take a peek at what was happening outside. She didn't expect the same from Tabby. The younger girl was scared stiff— not that Lorna wasn't. But unlike the 13-year-old, if something bad was going to happen, she wanted to see it coming.

Lorna Dane made it to the front. She peered through the wide windshield. Her eyes darted left and right. It all appeared quiet. She decided to take a chance. She reached for the door handle, not knowing that there was someone just behind her.

"What are you doing?" Tabby spoke up, scaring Lorna.

"Shh. I want to see what's outs-"

"You heard the metal lady. She said don't open that door."

"Right. That sliding door. She didn't mention anything about the driver's door."

"You're crazy."

"And you're a scar— well, all right—a **_bigger_** scaredy-cat than me."

Tabby retreated deeper into the body of the van understanding that she was the sane one of the two.

Lorna had managed to slowly open the door a third of the way when she saw something behind a cop car that was on its side.

It was monstrously ugly and... "OH MY GOD, IT'S LOOKING BACK AT ME!"


	25. Chapter 25: Let's Wrap This Up

25

Chapter 25: "Let's Wrap This Up."

The Blob sat on the street. His right hand pressed against the ground to support his upper body weight. His left forearm was on top of his left knee. His mind began to machete through the long stalks of rage to better recover his baring.

The flying metal woman and the short-lived appearance of Giant-man held no interest for him. He was preoccupied with the embarrassment and anger which grew with every mental flash back of what had occurred within the last twenty seconds. To be humiliatingly hurled blocks away by a kick that came from a nobody was something that screamed for vengeance in Frederick's mind. He wanted to go back there for a rematch with the dog puke who took advantage of his overconfidence.

The Blob had an unorthodox way of getting to his feet. In what began to look like comical awkwardness but quickly became ballet-gracefulness, he made a three-quarters of a full body spin in order to navigate his massive build to an upright position. As he was getting up, his nearly circular rotation caused his eyes to catch something.

He squinted into the sun's rays. Frederick saw a metal pole pretzel-ed around Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch. For whatever misguided sense of obligation he was feeling, Dukes didn't want to leave them there. Maybe it was because Frederick knew that they were mutant-kind. Maybe it was because in his short contact with the duo, the brother and sister appeared to be genuinely caring people. Or maybe it had to do with a more rudimentary reason— he still harbored feelings for the beauteous Scarlet Witch.

But he was conflicted. His honor had to be defended. The Blob had to return to his fight. Frederick performed a lot of head turning—his head swung towards the enemy who now was fighting Spider-man and then towards the siblings.

Finally, his pity for the brother and sister won out. That d - - k faced jerk looked like he didn't want or couldn't run out of here— the jackass only walked. He'll still be around after Fred rescued the Wanda and Pietro.

Behind him, the Blob heard shouts and loud metallic yelps of bended steel and aluminum. But there were two superheroes back there to deal with that stuff. Besides, despite his confidence that he could fight the attraction, there was one individual who had already captured his eyes.

Wanda had suffered a jolt, being thrashed against the police cargo van. She had finally won her battle against unconsciousness just as the rotund Homo Superior was approaching. Her mind was clear and her vision was coming into focus.

On the other hand, her brother's vision was razor-sharp even before the Blob took his first steps towards them.

"It is good that you came," the white-haired mutant said. "I could have freed myself by vibrating my body fast enough to cause the metal to become white hot. The metal would then be pliable enough for me to unfold. I would be moving too fast to feel the heat— of course— but I would also have unforgivably caused this pole to scorch my sister with 3rd degree burns."

Truthfully, Fred didn't want to hear it. He had no interest in Quicksilver's excuse for why he was a captive. Fred had his own ego to look after.

"Don't worry," The Blob said abruptly. "I got'cha." With the ease with which a normal adult could turn the page of a book, the Blob untwisted the metal post that had at one time held a stop sign.

The brother got to his feet first. He rubbed his left rib cage— Frederick thought that it was due to the tight fit of the pole that had imprisoned him. He did not know that the pain actually came from an unintentional squeeze from Giant-man, earlier.

Fred was ready to go, but when he again looked at the stunning Wanda Maximoff, his heart anchored him to the spot. Pietro reached down to take Wanda's right arm and help his sister up to her feet.

Fred's insides would have had him hold her and cherish her. Again, his mind was unconditionally given over to a war against itself. The fight to suppress this evidence of affection led to the mighty mutant unconsciously extending his hand to Wanda's left hand in an attempt to also help her to her feet. So savagely sweet was his inner battle that Frederick hadn't noticed Quicksilver's reaction. The speepster's frown indicated that he would not let this brute of a man touch his sister. Even if the Blob had saved them, he was still a man. Pietro knew how lecherous men were and how their eyes projected defiling desires for Wanda.

Wanda looked at the powerful hand that was easily twice the size of her brother's. The Blob's awesome palm and fingers had just straightened bent metal, but they looked harmless enough to cradle a nestling of the most fragile of baby bunnies.

Being more than familiar with her brother's overprotective nature, and fearing that he would offend their rescuer, Wanda did not take Fred's hand. But she made sure that she had a smile when she thanked the powerful Blob for his concern.

Her words were like a refreshing spring shower to his heated, revenge-seeking mind. He stayed a while longer to ask, "Who did this to you?"

Pietro snapped his answer forward before Wanda could move her sensual lips. "The same base degenerate who is walking away with a precious cargo." Quicksilver pointed to the back of Giant-man. He was pushing a white and blue van away from them. "I must stop him from taking away the two innocent girls inside the van. Will you help?"

"You got it," Dukes replied with righteous indignation.

"_Pietro, no_," Wanda exclaimed.

"Not now, dear sister. We are close to accomplishing our rescue mission."

* * *

The Blob's bouncy arrival was unexpected. His sudden presence made the armored maiden apprehensive, even though the bottom of her boots hovered safely at 25 feet above the massive mutant with unclear motives. It was strange to see the mutant man-mountain sitting on the ground and only looking to the south, north, and east as if he was lost.

To the Unicorn's relief, the Blob eventually got up to his feet and walked away. He could have been a force against Giant-man and herself, or an ally who also had to be protected from these powerful enemies. Yolanda thought that she already had her hands filled with her concerns over Henry and the teenagers. Well, friend or foe, the Blob's disinterest in the battle uncomplicated things.

She turned her attention back to the Avenger who was still atop the winged insect in the palm of her hand. He was looking skyward. Yolanda raised her own eyes, but she saw nothing in the air but a helicopter with a local news station logo on its side. Enough of that— it was time to bring her mentor's focus back to earth.

"You should not engage in this battle," Yolanda told Henry Pym. "You can be the general behind the lines, but not one of the infantry.''

He started to shake his head in opposition. Then upon remembering the last few incomplete maneuvers that he attempted, he had to relent.

"As much as I can't stand the thought of sitting this out, you're right. I'll just jeopardize our victory if you become distracted with my safety."

Behind the mask, Yolanda had a large grin, and Hank knew it. "Don't get too cocky, young lady. This only means that I'm giving in to you just this once. But you still will do as I say… even if it means retreating.

Henry sighed and said, "I'm calling in—"

"_**NO!**_ We don't need Thor, nor Iron Man, nor Captain America. We can finish this off by ourselves. Three minutes is all I ask."

Hank knew that this battle meant a lot to the fledgling heroine. If it could be contained here and if she wasn't in danger, he would give the very confident and attractive apprentice her three minutes.

Suddenly, the duo heard a shriek coming from the other side of the van. The insect, where upon Ant-man sat, threw out her wings and shot up from off the Unicorn's hand.

"Go!" the small hero yelled to his trainee. From her elevated view point, Yolanda saw the Grey Gargoyle behind a police car that was on its side. She aimed her repulsor disk, but before anything came out of it, the police car surrendered several load moans as it miraculously and quickly wrapped itself around the Gargoyle.

There was only one reason for a mass of metal to suddenly come alive and incarcerate the villain. Yolanda landed between the van and the disfigured vehicle. Yolanda looked at Lorna who was shaking like a leaf behind the closed driver's side door. Tabatha had just rushed up behind Lorna to see why the older girl had cried out.

The now 6 foot, 1 inch Avenger appeared by the driver's side window, startling both girls.

"Sorry to scare you," the hero replied to the teenagers' gasp. " But you did a great job— brilliant."

"I knew you did something over-the-top," Tabby said to Lorna. The younger girl didn't knowing the actual details. but ... "Your hair was beginning to turn back to brown and now it's all green again."

"She capture a bad-guy," Henry responded with a broad grin. Hisright thumb went up in approval of Lorna's action.

But Lorna's good feeling and encouragement were short lived. The Gargoyle's great strength allowed him to tear away his vehicle-cell. He came out to the open looking bewildered.

"Spin him like a Duncan Top," the Avenger told the Unicorn. Being a volunteer at a day care center, Yolanda knew what he meant in referencing to the Duncan Company's skill-toy.

Her repulsors worked on the electro-magnetic impulses, as did the Lorna's mutant power. But The Unicorn had one thing over Lorna— her repulsors' effectiveness was not limited to metal. The Unicorn could manipulate the tiny electronic charges of the atoms found in air and within any solid matter. Yolanda strengthened those charges of the unseen atoms in the Gargoyle's body. Her right repulsor palm-disc pushed away the atoms on her enemy's left shoulder and thigh, while her left drew the right side of the Gargoyle closer in short continual spurts. Instantly, the threat was, indeed, spinning like a top. When she stopped, he fell to the ground in a dizzy helplessness.

Giant-man disappeared again. Yolanda heard him over her helmet's ear phone. "Okay, this has gone on too long. Let's wrap this up."

He added, "When I hopped off your hand I saw Spider-man about two blocks down."

Yolanda had seen him also. But with the rebellious girls who couldn't follow a simple order like _stay in the van and close the door_, and the sudden disappearance of a lightheaded Henry, she had completely forgotten about Spider-man.

The Avenger continued, "He was jumping around like a Kangaroo overdosed on caffeine. I have a plan."

Following Giant-man's words, the heroine increased her strength to two hundred horses. The Unicorn then pulled to herself an intact abandoned vehicle that was to her right. Her amplified strength bent the car in half so that the hood and trunk almost met. She then picked up the fallen menace in her car- tweezers. Immediately, the Unicorn arms wrapped the car around the dizzy assailant just as the mutant teenager had previously done.

Her boosters brought her and her burden over the river. She soared up to one of the bridge tower that supported the suspension cables. The Unicorn was supposed to have torn open that mangled car and drop the woozy Gargoyle on top of the tower. But she was saved the trouble.

Duval punched himself free and he dropped onto the target like an egg onto a skillet.

Mission accomplished: The Grey Gargoyle clung to the structure in a panic just as Henry had predicted. The stone-man was horrified over the prospect of falling onto the water. Yolanda figured that this was due to his last near-drowning experience in the river. Even if he managed to get over his phobia, he would try descending from the tower very, very slowly. That would give Yolanda plenty of time to—as Henry said—_wrap this up_.

Now, the student should have listened to her teacher. The next move in the 4-step plan that he devised for the Unicorn was to swoop down and bring Spider-man to Giant-man for reconnaissance. Each of the three heroes had to learn about the challenges that the other was experiencing in order to effectively plan an end to the fighting.

But her teacher didn't use the word "important" in getting to Spider-man. He used that word when he said that she had to bring the helicopter down closer to the ground. Giant-man knew that they had a live-feed camera on board because this was the same aircraft that the studio used to report on and televise traffic situations. Henry wanted them to shoot the battle before police copters chased them away.

Being an independent soul since she was two years old, Yolanda put step three in front of step two. She sprang up to the TV crew. The sudden sight of the armored figure inadvertently alarmed the pilot, the camera man and a female reporter enough so that the three of them released short screams.

Luckily, they had seen her teamed up with Giant-man, just seconds before she had suddenly appeared so close to them. The heroine had signaled with her hands that they should open the helicopter door. Convinced that she was one of the good guys, they agreed.

The Unicorn yelled above the whirling blades sound, "Come down and get the action before the police get here."

She then dropped away. There was a tremendous sound that came from below. The Unicorn turned to see Spider-man on his back. A damaged green truck was rocking a little bit. Still, the red-and-blue hero looked well enough so that the Unicorn could turn again to the helicopter. She stopped her fall midway, and waved the hesitant news crew down. The copter finally lowered itself closer to the battle field.

Yolanda then turned towards Spider-man and gasped. She was witnessing the consequence of not following orders precisely as they were given.

* * *

He had to ignore the screams of his back now. Spider-man had to stay way, taunting the silent enemy until his pain subsided. That would then free him to continue throwing punches. The very fast and very powerful fists of the teen had solved 90 percent of his former scraps. They would have to do it again. He just had to make sure to stay in control and that he didn't go anywhere near his threshold of berserk.

Spider-man jumped around his foe. For the sake of his back, Spider-man cushioned his landing by bending his ankles and knees. His drawing-in-and-out antics would have left Mohammad Ali in opened-mouth awe. Finally, as the pain diminished to a tolerable level, he drew closer.

To accurately follow the sequence of action, one must appreciate three things: the time measure in fractions of a second, the mind's ability to race in the face of a threat, and the bodies of the two combatants whose reflexes could match the quickness of thought.

Just as a very young Jan Van Dyne's mind had slowed down the time sequence of an impending car crash, years ago, the fighting also slowed down for Peter. He led with his left, but his intended damage punch was going to be his right.

Spider-man threw what he believed should have been his knock-out punch. But the way that he had telegraphed it made him scold himself inwardly— _that was dumb._

Just as he had feared, the stranger anticipated the punch. The strong man reacted in his trade mark fashion. Exhibiting unbelievable reflexes, his left hand grabbed the young hero's right wrist. He pulled Spider-man closer. The strong man's right hand went up towards Peter's face. The youth mistakenly thought it was a punch heading towards his face and his free hand rose to deflect it away. But the stranger's intent was to ram his forearm against Peter's right upper pectoral and shoulder. [END OF THE 1st SECOND]

It hurt Spider-man, but it wasn't the mighty enemy's primary blow; his forearm positioning was only to help him judo-flip the youth. The real blow came from his right knee. When he had pulled Spider-man in, the powerful teenager was left leaning so that the right side of his torso was tilting earthward. The knee rose to hit Spider-man just under his ribs. The hit was intentionally painful, but the primary reason for the move was to knock the air out from his lungs. It was an ingenious maneuver to stun his opponent long enough to prevent retaliation while the stranger landed several destructive blows.

Seeing how he could not escape the battering, Spider-man's equally super-quick reflexes allowed him to partially leap up. With his body going in the same direction as the punishing knee, the blow wasn't as effective as the strongman had anticipated.

A stranger again pulled on Spider-man's right arm while spontaneously lifting up his left forearm against the youth's shoulder. This raised Spider-man over the strong man's hip. [END OF THE 2nd SECOND]

Spider-man was heading down to the ground hard. But the memory of the first back pain that Mighty Mutt had inflicted was fresh in his mind, and the youth wasn't going to allow him a repeat performance.

While going down at a tremendous speed, Spider-man turned his body so that he landed on his left side. It was a jolt, but extending his free hand towards the ground minimized the impact.

Standing over Spider-man, the stranger's right arm lifted away from his foe's body. It then began to descend with decimating speed to mightily punch the hero's face. At the same time, the quick-thinking Spider-man had raised his own right knee towards his chest. His knee hit the oncoming fist to redirect the punch. The stranger's knuckles landed on the ground just above the hero's head. [END OF THE 3rd SECOND]

But the maneuver wasn't designed to be only an evasive action— his other knee followed the first, enabling Spider-man to flip around and land on his feet. If not for the deadly consequence of the fight, one could have laughed seeing both battlers rigidly holding each other— but the stranger was now held upside down.

That flip was so quick that the black top that shattered under the force of the stranger's missed punch didn't reach Spider-man's cheek until the amazing hero was standing upright.

The silent strong man was about to make a move to right himself, while at the same time delivering a heel-kick to the back of Peter's skull. Spider-man launched them both into a brick wall about 20 feet from them. Due to his tremendously strong legs, their travel lasted less than an eye-blink. But it felt insufferably much too long to the worried youth. Peter knew that the kick to the head was coming.

He bent his neck forward to avert the heel-kick, while concentrating on twisting their intertwined bodies in mid-air. Mighty Mutt had to hit the wall at full steam and Spider-man would take advantage of whatever cushion his foe's body could afford. [END OF THE 4th SECOND]

They ricochet off the brick structure with Spider-man achieving the release of his right risk. [END OF THE 5th SECOND AND .42 OF THE 6th SECOND]

The fighters whizzing through the air, seeing the sidewalk and blacktop speeding by them. Finally the two powerful figures began to descend from their linear projectory. [END OF THE 8th SECOND]

Spider-man bent his knees and placed the soles of his feet against the back of his opponent's torso. The youth then stretched his left hand down towards the ground.

The green soda truck that the stranger had earlier damaged lay on its side with the roof facing Spider-man. His spider-characteristic clingy fingertips hit the ground—it was the brace that he needed. The bodies of both fighters continued to sail over his stationary hand, as his own elbow dug into his side for a fraction of a second. The anchor effect forced Spider-man's body to rotate— as soon as his feet were positioned at "10 o'clock," he shot out his legs to a straightened position. [END OF THE 9th SECOND]

His incredible legs rocketed the stranger into the soda truck. The boom was loud. The truck moved backwards. The roof of the vehicle bent in half, swallowing the silent strong man. [END OF THE 11th SECOND]

Spider-man knew that he didn't have too much time to rest, but whatever could be afforded to him, he needed.

Behind him sand poured onto the street. It first formed human feet. The remaining sand mounted on top of the first two piles. Legs materialized… then a torso, and finally the complete personage of Flint Marko. One hand was shaped into a one-foot thick, flat concrete slab, about the size on an office desk top. He raised that arm threateningly.

Spider-man's mind and body were still yearning for rest. He had not focused on the different sensory impulses that warned him of this second threat. His toes and knees were on the ground. Both forearms stretched upon the ground as fortress walls protecting the forehead that welcomed the coolness of the sidewalk.

* * *

The war that he and the Unicorn were engaged in had blocked out the battle noise from the other side of the secluded bomb searching area. But just at that moment Henry looked northward, towards the young adventurer. In a surreal moment, he saw a soda truck bend itself around the man. A second later, he heard the loud boom that accompanied the sight.

There was no time to lose. He was confident that the Unicorn was faithfully tending to her end of the scheme and Hank had to work on his responsibility. Remembering that he had dropped a metal giant on his head earlier, the normal sized the Avenger ran to the other side of the van. He was rewarded with an encouraging sight. The robot's attempt to get to its feet was very slow. And that was good indication that Hank could get the girls out of harm's way without interruption.

Giant-man opened the van's side door and the girls rushed towards him. He told them that one girl had to turn the ignition key. This would release the parking brakes and enable the power steering. Tabby was the first to respond. She turned the key without actually starting the motor, as Giant-man had instructed. The 13-year-old began steering the van away as the now 15-foot Avenger pushed the vehicle from behind.

Seeing Tabby behind the steering wheel, Lorna wanted to kick herself for not reacting before her young friend did. She would content herself to sit in the passenger seat for now. But hey, after a few blocks Lorna was going to insist that they switch places.

* * *

Hawkeye's back was towards the van and he didn't see the reappearance of his primary target. He was looking north. Spider-man was taking a breather, on his hands and knees. _This was the moment!_

An exhausted Spider-man was going to get tangled up in his steel ribbon arrow. The arrow head was larger than the others, as it had 6 thin-but-strong, long, flexible steel bands. Once fired, Hawkeye could release the ribbons via a remote control button on his belt located under his left elbow.

These metal ribbons' steel construction made it impossible for anyone to break free from its tentacle-like grasp. It could even crush the ribs of a man. There was no pretense to believe that Spider-man was just a man, but Hawkeye was confident enough that it would keep the amazing dirt-bag stationary long enough to use another electri-WHOA!

"What have we here?" Barton smiled. "No, no, no. This is too good, to be true." Sandman was forming behind the wall-crawler.

"Okay," Barton whispered. "Back into the quiver goes the steel bands and out comes the grenade arrowhead."

The confident Hawkeye fixed the explosive arrow on his bow string as he waited for Marko to fully materialize. Once Barton saw the Sandman's head appear, the smiling villain pulled back on his murder weapon and … _**THE ARROW SNAPPED IN TWO!**_

* * *

The Sand Man stood behind Spider-man. He had raised his granite-hard, 3-foot by five-foot pulverizing hand. But he just couldn't bring himself to hammer it down on the hero. Sure, he wanted to smash the son-of-a-bitch who turned him over to the cops. But this way? Marko shook his head slightly— "Nnnno, nope."

Marko wanted the world to know that he beat Spider-man fair and square.

"Well, either I should be thankful that you changed your mind" Spider-man said without turning around to Marko. "Or maybe be thankful that your vision's bad."

Sandman chuckled at the thought that Spider-man knew he was there all along. "I ain't cashing in on somebody else's work. I wanna beat you all fair-like, sh – t head."

Spider-man nodded understandably… and with some admiration. With his left knee still on the ground, the youth's upper body and forearms rested on the upright knee.

Now at this time, Marko had thought that his foe had won his fight— the Sand man figured that he could afford to give his opponent 4 minutes of rest. But Peter had already been fooled once and had he known what the Sandman was thinking, he'd have vehemently disagreed.

As the youth anticipated, the soda truck gave out a loud scream and birthed the dreaded stranger. The powerful figure strolled forward as if nothing happened… and worst of all, as if he wasn't the bit exhausted.

The sandy prison escapee was _twice_ as surprised. Firstly, this Raggedy Andy— with his pants tattered, and having a lone strap clinging to one shoulder as the only evidence that he had a body length jumpsuit— had just popped out of the tomb that was once a truck. Secondly, this jerk was out of his mind—he was walking up to the Sandman, who in his own estimation was the most feared meta-being in the world. Marko was gripped by baffling silence, not understanding why this fool dared to walk over to him.

Marko eventually recovered from the shock to say to Spider-man: "Ferget yer little prom date, scumbag. We gots unfinished business ta attend ta."

"Well," the hero replied as he turned around to Marko. "Who'd of thought that I was such a popular dance partner? Keep your dainty little boogying feet right where they are, you mad impetuous boy. After I bury Mr. Chuckles, over there, in a ton of webbing, I'm going to give you the rumba lesson of your life."

Marko ignored the hero's words. Instead, the Sandman yelled at the advancing powerhouse. "Beat it, sonny. You're way atta yer league."— Spider-man had to shake his head. Did Marko know _anything_ about Mighty Mutt?— "Turn around an' get ta Momma before I make ya stain yer draws."

"No?" the Sandman asked in bewilderment as the silent menace continued walking forward. "All right then. Hope momma has a giant spatula. She's ganna need it ta scrape her little diaper-sh – tter off the ground."

Having the equivalent stretching ability of Reed Richards, the Sandman elongated both arms. One hand was already formed into a flat, wide, punishing block; the other hand now looked like a rounded ball about three-quarters the size of the stranger, and it had several sharp spikes sprouting up all around it.

At seeing this metamorphosis, the mighty stranger stopped in his track. The reaction ranged from the unbelieving Spider-man's _"WHAT?!"_ to the Sandman's sneering, "I thought so."

"Scram," Marko yelled at the emotionless stranger. The partially grainy brawler turned again to Spider-man.

"Take it easy, ya f - - kin' peanut brain. Save yer breath. Yer gonna need all yer strength for me."

Spider-man moved his head so that he could peek around Marko's right arm. The youth was recovering from exhaustion and that would be enough for anyone to ignore one's instinctive sense of fairness. Well, if Peter had the slightest sense of indignation, he would have said something. But the Sandman DID instruct him to save his breath.

_**: Sprat! : **_ cried out the sound as the Sandman felt a dull pain and his body jerked forward. Marko looked down. He saw a forearm and a fist protruding from the chest area of his green shirt.

The stranger had thrown a punch at Marko's back and his hand went right through his target.

"Very un-sporty of the chap, wouldn't you say?" Spider-man quipped.

The arm retreated quickly. Marko said, "That was pretty funny, mother f - - ker. An' since yer in a f - - king humorous mood, let's see how you fair with an a - s attack."

Peter was fairly sure that Flint Marko wasn't going to _fart _the guy into submission, but he did move to the side to better see what Sandman meant.

Marko grew to twelve feet with everything under his belt line being loose sand. Suddenly, a cement tube-like structure, about 4 feet wide, jumped out from the Sandman's unstable rear and hit the stranger straight in the face. The hit sounded loud and painful. The silent fighter was shot away from the Sandman like a comet. Peter tired not to laugh, but the move was so comically brilliant.

Marko turned around to his new opponent. He had expanded his body width and darn if he didn't blocked Peter's view of their common enemy sliding across the street.

The sandman moved forward. Feeling better, Spider-man attempted to look around the grainy combatant.

For his troubles, Spider-man was almost hit with the front half of a police car that exploded out from Marko's back and continued rocketing past the youth. Man, spider-senses were a blast, weren't they?

The stranger was throwing stuff at the Sandman. He was, no doubt, frustrated as to how he could combat handle the Sandman. _Welcome to my world_, Spider-man thought.

His sense again tingled, but it was too late. A subdued roar, a tight clutch on his chest and suddenly Spider-man was airborne.

"Stop squirming," an annoyed female voice said. The words sounded like where coming out of a metal can. "Everything will be alright."

Spider-man then knew that his abduction was really a rescue attempt. As Peter saw his two antagonists grow smaller in his eyes, he relaxed his body. The grip around his chest lightened. His back felt the metal on the side of the female form. :: _SIGH_:: Too bad he wasn't held against her front. On second thought, considering that she was wearing a metal chest plate, it wouldn't have made a difference.

The female voice continued, "You're needed for information-gathering. I was ordered to wrap this up, and I may use your information to do it."

Now Peter liked a confident woman, but this one sounded arrogant. Giant-man sure could pick 'em. His former squeeze was a insect-sized, loud-mouth, bossy know-nothing.

* * *

This was all too entertaining to Hawkeye. But he had to shoot this arrow. Be it Spider-man and the Sandman or the web-shooter and the tin can bitch, Barton wanted to bag two prizes. He followed them with his eyes until he discovered that he now had THREE targets. One of them was the sought-after Mr. Treetops. Well, _patience is a virtue_, he was taught as a kid.

* * *

Six hired gunmen couldn't believe their eyes. They had heard of the Sandman, but actually seeing him in action… _WHOA! _

A medium built, 4O-ish-year-old with thinning light red hair—presumably, their leader— whispered to the other five men that they were there for a purpose and it wasn't to be spectators.

"Ready yer guns," he said. But it was doubtful that even he knew what to do next.

* * *

Like The Gargoyle, before him, The Blob uprooted a tree. The sharp rumbling sound of the roots coming up from the ground didn't mean anything to Giant-man as he kept pushing the van uphill towards the police barriers on 2nd Avenue.

Henry Pym didn't have Peter Parker's spider-senses, but he did have winged look- outs covering his back. The 15-foot Giant-man answered the call to action by becoming the 40-foot Giant-man. He wasn't going to escape harm by becoming Ant-man. That would have left the van vulnerable to the sudden danger that was coming his way.

He turned his head in time to see a tree flying in his direction. It bounced off his right shoulder blade with the effect of a light tap.

One hand kept the van moving forward as his eyes focused on his new assailant.

"Where you think you're going, big guy?" a round figure shouted.

"The Blob," Giant-man spat out. What stake did he have in all this?

"Let those girls go," the mighty mutant challenged. "You don't want a piece of me."

Hmmm. Where were Quicksilver and Wanda? Henry would bet that they were behind this guy's misplaced rage. Now, he could get close to the unsuspecting Blob as Ant-man, and quickly regained his present height— plus ten more feet. The subsequent increase of strength working with the good prospect of catching the Blob unaware, would enable the size-changer to soccer-kick the massive mutant into the river, … if not clear it altogether, so that the Blob would land in the borough of Queens.

_Better not,_ Hank scolded himself. The hero didn't want to hurt the Blob, nor anyone who had the misfortune of receiving the falling weight of the heavy brute.

If he wasn't going to do that, there was another issue. Hank Pym wanted to finish this little war, not continue it by adding another fighter. His trainee just took the Grey Gargoyle out of action, why have some other brawler take his place?

Hank's sharp mind went to work. Why couldn't he figure out how to calm the Blob down? The same genes that were in his crafty sister were in him also.

Hank knew that this man was Frederick Dukes, the Applebaum Circus' top attraction. After denouncing his past battles, Dukes happily accepted the life of entertainment. Hank read where the circus owner wanted to sell his company and retire. Dr. Pym's mind recollected a name— Craig Morrison— from his spy-smashing days. .… Hey, like a big, but easy puzzle, it all came together for Erica's little brother. Now the Unicorn's flagging down the helicopter news crew had another extra benefit.

He put up his free hand with his palm facing his new challenger. It was a non threatening gesture indicting that he didn't want a conflict. It seemed to do the trick. The Blob stopped shouting. Everything looked like it could be settled peacefully.

_**DEAR LORD!**_ Out of nowhere a _**meteor**_ crashed down on top of the Blob.

* * *

The young communist scientist had brought the robot back to its feet. He had to place his sore neck at the back of his concerns. Xu had to gain control of the situation after these embarrassing setbacks.

The machine ran around a bulldozer and ducked behind a building that had been partially demolished, only half a block away. On the instrument panel before him, he checked the power meter—it was fine. He checked the condition of the nozzles of the two gun barrel and the flame thrower located between them— they were not damaged. He checked his ammunition. High powered bullets were at 60 percent load capacity and the fuel for the flamethrower was close to 80. Xu grinned.

He had wished to bring the Giant-man back alive to mainland China—the REAL China— as a prize for his people and a warning to the West. Well, a dead Giant-man would have to do. And a couple of extra corpses— one stone and the other metal—could relieve Xu of his disappointment.

* * *

The Unicorn saw the incredible sight from her sky high vantage point. The man who she thought was a mere street-dweller had thrust opened the top of an inwardly collapsed truck and walked out. His display of strength was incredible.

But if that wasn't enough, Spider-man was down on one knee before the menacing presence of the Sandman. To the mind of the young and not-too- compliant genius, if Spider-man was resting or begging for mercy, it was all Yolanda's fault. Yolanda should have gotten Spider-man out of there earlier as her mentor had instructed her.

As the news helicopter was descending, the Unicorn prepared herself to race to the wall-crawling hero's side. But her peripheral view caught a new character. On a roof top, a costumed archer was pulling back on his bow. His sights were unequivocally aimed at the Sandman, Spider-man and the fellow who was walking towards them.

Well, just as in the case of the Blob, Yolanda didn't know if this masked man was a hero who planned to help Spider-man or a villain who intended to beat the others to the kill. This wasn't the time to flip a coin.

Again she spoke and her armor responded. The telescopic visor came down over her right eye. This time it had a hunter's crosshair. Her right middle and index fingers joined – this opened an eighth-of-an-inch round hole at the tip of her index finger. It also readied a laser beam in the finger mechanism that was far advanced from anything anyone could imagine… until, perhaps, the year 2064.

The crosshairs were aligned with the aim of the fingertip opening. "Dart" Yolanda said quickly.

In an instant a quick burst of light escaped her index finger. The light ray reached its mark. It cleanly sawed through the arrow's stem, barely missing the top of the masked archers' forearm.

The front portion of the arrow fell to the ground and the part that the man held stayed in his fingers, but it drooped downward. Unfortunately, the Unicorn had no chance to gloat over her perfect hit.

Her right vision was still enhanced by her telescopic lens, but her left eye had a normal panoramic view of what was below her. From the bottom of the facemask's left eye opening, she saw a tree taking an incredible flight like a massive bird. And it… _hit Henry?_ _**HER HENRY?!**_

_Oooooh yeah! _Yolanda was going to _wrap this up_, all right.

Her eyes reversed-tracked what she assumed was the flight path of the tree. She found the Blob standing at the estimated point of origin. She first saw him raise a threatening fist at her beloved. And then she saw red.

* * *

Post script: **"Spin him like a Duncan Top," the Avenger told the Unicorn.**

Side note— The following had to be edited out of the battle sequence because it slowed down the action. Yolanda knew what he was referring to. In the day care center where she volunteered her services, the little boys had brought tops from home. She knew what they were supposed to do, but the 3-year-olds were unsuccessful in trying to throw the tops into a spin. Yolanda and the other adults had to forbid them. The tops were flying around like bullets.

Main thought— Along with that other skill-developing toy— the _yo-yo_— the top was the "Rave" of the 1950s and early '60's. The author assumes that even in this age of computer video games, the readers know about spin tops and their strings. If he's wrong, the internet has photos of the toy that the reader's Cretaceous-age grandparents played with when they were kids. Actually, ... they played with the tops when they weren't sliding down the back of an Alamosaurus, or playing rodeo on top of a Triceratops, or filing down the teeth of their pet Tyrannosaurus.


	26. Chapter 26: If You Can Keep Your Head

Chapt 26: If You Can Keep Your Head When All About You Are Losing Theirs And Blaming It On You;

* * *

The media was elbowed out of covering the bomb stakeouts at the Manhattan-fed bridges and tunnels. Unfortunately, the battle that erupted in the Triborough Bridge area had drawn their attention. Like sharks seeing blood in the water, TV news crews raced towards the East 125th before law enforcement could react. Not having to invest time in collecting a camera crew and large vehicles, radio reports were on the scene first. Nearly every station interrupted their regular programming for the news update.

Nearly thirteen minutes ago, cooks in the Osborn Mansion kitchen caught the radio bulletin. Inspired purely by gossip-spreading, they had informed the head butler, Kevin Mygatt. The butler knew that one of the combatants was his employer's prospective bodyguard, the Grey Gargoyle. Earlier that morning , that brutish stone fellow was summoned by Master Osborn to move to the North Hampton retreat; it was just a water ride away from Connecticut and much closer to Mr. Osborn's primary residence than the Osborn Manor in upstate New York.

Mygatt found the Master of the Estate in his study and informed him about Paul Duval's escapade. As the butler expected, Norman Osborn raged and threw things about. He then angrily rushed the servant out of the room, so that he could make a few phone calls. Mygatt wasn't offended. He knew that his job security was strengthened by his ignorance of Norman Osborn's everyday activities outside of the estate. All that mattered was, however it was going to happen, Master Osborn was going to fix this dilemma.

Now more than ten minutes later, Mygatt felt a little sympathy for the company lawyer, Arthur Shapiro. He was supposed to have chauffeured the meta-being to Long Island in secret. The fiery-tempered Master Osborn will not reckon him guiltless in all this. Still, empathy had its limit; and considering that anyone could be, and had been, a target for the industrialist's wrath, a sense of satisfied, self- preservation clothed him. The butler was not above thinking, **_Better him than me._**

* * *

Yolanda was heading north to retrieve Spider-man from between two extremely powerful adversaries when she saw Giant-man assaulted with a thrown tree. Who could have been so powerful as to accomplish the uprooting and hurling? When she saw the Blob making a threatening gesture to her beloved, Yolanda instantly knew.

In thought-robbing rage, the Unicorn made a sharp detour in midair and charged downward towards the mass of hog crap. "Strength 39 percent" she spoke to her armor and instantly she had double the strength of a structure-destroying Bulldozer.

She sped down at 240 miles an hour per second/ per second finally reaching the blob at over 288 miles an hour. The impact was ear-shattering. Though his feet were still anchored to the ground, the Blob went down quick and hard. Pieces of blacktop under the massive man exploded in every direction.

* * *

Wanda and Pietro finally made it to the scene. They stood behind the Blob as he challenged the large Avenger. Wanda's opinion of Giant-man jetted to extremes. After swings where she saw him as trustworthy, then despicably deceiving, she finally settled on believing that his integrity was unblemished.

Before she turned on him, Wanda had listened to the Avenger. Now his words had been echoing in Wanda's mind. Why had she even thought about surrendering the teenage girls to Magneto, knowing how cruel and tyrannical he could be?

When she was offended over Giant-man's treatment of her brother, Wanda had used her hex power to make the giant stumble. He could have easily crushed her under his weight, but instead he had shifted his falling body away in order to save her. Judging from his action, Wanda was sure that Giant-man's nature was true, without hidden sinister motives.

That is also why Wanda bore no ill-will towards the Avenger's companion. After being thrown against the van, the Scarlet Witch fought against the grasp of unconsciousness. Wanda's conscience was stricken when the armored maiden angrily charged the Scarlet Witch with treachery against the merciful Giant-man. Yes, Wanda knew that he responded to her attack with compassion.

And now the remorseful, attractive brunette grabbed her brother's arm in protest over his insistence that the Blob contribute to their side of the struggle.

"Unhand me, Wanda," Quicksilver shouted angrily. He wanted to free his arm from her grip without hurting her.

"NO! Our purpose is blighted, poisonous. I see that now. Won't you stop to hear me?!"

"We can talk about this at another time. Right now, we are close to victory and the righteous retribution against that filthy giant Homo Sapien."

And there it was. The one who harbored ulterior motive was not Giant-man— it was her beloved brother. It was hard to calm a mind whose supposed _mission_ was wrapped around so securely by the chains of unreasonable pride. Pietro burned inwardly to repay the non-mutant for the humiliation that he had suffered at the hands of the inferior outsider. And what merit had either of the siblings, now? Wasn't the giant's actions born out of self-preservation from her brother's assault? And the metal woman … wasn't she acting upon her desire to defend the two girls?

She hated herself and her mission. As unreasonable as it sounded to her, she discovered that she hated the gracious Giant-man, as well. He opened her eyes and that now pitted her against the last living member of her family. But would it have been better to stay blind to their cause?

She could not retreat into the "what ifs" now. Wanda was only left with a choice. She could allow her dear brother to continue his unrighteous wrath. She knew that with each outburst, Pietro was plunging deeper into the ruthless, soulless pit where Magneto dwelt. Or she could turn— mayhap violently— against her beloved brother… he who would resolutely give up his live to protect her.

Damn that Giant-man. She would now be cursed above all women if she took either path.

Mercifully, she was spared her decision. The ground violently jumped under her feet and she fell. Her ears ached as the air screamed horribly around her. As pieces of blacktop shot in her direction, she closed her eyes and she flinched.

Something unseen and terrible thing had just happened. But dear Pietro leaped to her side, shielding her.

* * *

Giant-man quickly realized his mistake— it wasn't a meteor that had struck the Blob and created a small crater. Giant-man leaned forward and shouted down to the van.

"Shift the gear handle to _P_ and turn the ignition off. I have to leave for a moment, but I'll return rapidly."

The huge Avenger ran to where he saw the Unicorn securely sitting on top of the laid-out Blob as if he was a wild horse. Her legs squeezed around his girth. Her upper body leaned forward to get the right angle by which to maximize the effects of her strikes upon the behemoth.

The massive mutant covered his face with his hands, but it didn't stop the Unicorn from raining wild, building-destroying punches onto the Blob's head. The thunderous right and left crosses were strong enough to move the Blob's body. The Unicorn and the mutant skidded across the ground. Their travels shattered several sidewalk curbs and upended a street lamp along the way. Ironically, one of her punches caused their bodies to the darted between Giant-man's sprinting legs. They passed so fast that Hank couldn't react in time. The unlikely rodeo pair was speeding towards the police van. Hank was afraid that the girls within would suffer unintentional injuries.

The 40-foot tall hero dropped his body down to the ground in order to achieve a slide. This proved to be a good braking maneuver. Then regaining his footing, he reversed himself.

Before Giant-man could reached them, the Blob placed his right hand on the Unicorn's chin. He yelled "Are you crazy?" and pushed her away. So strong was the shove that armored maiden found herself a hundred feet above her opponent.

Henry had seen how Yolanda been shoved with such might. As if anger was a fickle dancer, she moved on from Yolanda to another partner. She enveloped Giant-man him with her own arms of outrage.

Ignoring the fact that Frederick was defending himself, Giant-man snatched the Blob up with his right hand— chunks of the ground under the powerful mutant's feet came up with him.

A war of strength ensued as the mighty Blob wrestled to free himself. Then, visions— barbaric visions – came to sear Giant-man's mind. He imagined himself pulling the head off of the Blob. He was torn away from this hideous imagery by the sight of Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch together. They looked stunned and that meant that they were going to be in that one place for at least another second.

Henry fought the savage urge to squash them both under his colossal foot. Hank envisioned leaving them a bloody, mangled mess at the same time that he was decapitating the Blob.

_This couldn't be happening, _he told himself. These demonic impulses usually came when he sustained his giant status for more than 90 seconds at a time. But they always came when his mind was disengaging. Either they sprung up on him as he lay in bed, seconds away from sleep, or they ambushed him as in a daydream when he took time off from a difficult project. … Or if he mourned a lover's betrayal, like last night.

Suddenly, Yolanda appeared by his left ear. She screamed, "Stop. What are you doing? "

Her words sliced through her mentor's mind and rescued him.

Giant-man looked down in horror to see that while his right hand fought against the Blob's escape , his left had closed around the head of his captive. Henry didn't know his present height, but his rounded index finger was sufficient enough to cover the mutant's face. He felt his heel return to the ground as if his foot was about to rise up and ….

The prospect of performing the two acts of barbarism made his stomach turn.

Thankful that he was himself, he shrunk back down to 40 feet. The penitent Giant-man placed the Blob on to the ground. The three mutants were left stunned by his Jekyll-to-Hyde- back-to-Jekyll transformations.

Giant-man started, "I'm sorry. I'm terribly—"

Yolanda's concern for Henry's actions instantly turned to anger. "No— we don't apologize," Yolanda yelled behind him. "We defeat them."

Clenching her fists, she again charged down towards the Blob. With fast reflexes, the towering hero managed to grab the Unicorn just inches away from her intended punching bag. His truck-sized back and legs strained to contain her. The Blob was already leaning away with his hands in front of his face. To his credit, striking a woman— even a powerful woman— was not in his character.

Suddenly an explosion floored all five of them. Wanda and Pietro had neither the thick hides of the Blob and Giant-man, nor the protective metal covering of the Unicorn. But since they were behind the Avenger, they suffered no serious injury.

Hank and Yolanda instinctively looked towards the van. Only a few steps from the van door were two wide-eyed, open-mouthed girls.

Yolanda's forearms braced themselves against the ground, allowing her upper body to rise up. She angrily yelled at the teens, **_"AGAIN?!"_**

Tabatha turned to Lorna. The younger girl's face appeared as if she had tasted something sour. Her hands were flapping like she had held something hot and her feet were jogging in place.

"I'm never, ever, going to listen to you again."

Tabby's right hand slapped Lorna's shoulder before she darted into the van. Lorna slowly turned her head away from the girl inside of the van to the adults.

"Ahhhh, sorry guys. You two just keep kicking mutant a – ses, okay?" She then scurried into the vehicle, as well.

Dizziness had reclaimed Giant-man, but he didn't let it show. Instead, he sat on the ground with the air of in-control confidence. His knees were up, supporting his forearms.

He swiveled on his rear to face the Unicorn. "Okay, young lady… go bring Spider-man to me."

She protested, "And you expect me to leave you here with—"

"I expect you to follow orders, just as we agreed from the beginning," Giant-man said sternly. Then in a calmer, caring tone he added, "This particular fight is over. We need to thank the girls, later. They subdued Mr. Dukes in a way that we probably couldn't."

The respectable reference of "Mr. Dukes" made Frederick's eyes quickly move from the police van to Giant-man.

Henry knew that Yolanda was fuming. She looked at the Blob, barely hearing Henry say "Go on."

She straightened up and looked away towards the mutant siblings. They were just then getting to their feet after being jolted from the explosion. The Unicorn pointed to them.

"They won't be a factor either," Gant-man said before his trainee could speak. "It's now three against one. Quicksilver hasn't a chance."

The trainer and pupil locked eyes. If silent emotions could be heard, one would swear that the Unicorn's frustration sounded like a volcanic eruption. After a period, Giant-man said as non-provoking as possible, "Concern and anger towards me is understandable, but insubordination isn't. It will cost us the victory."

Despite her inner urge to challenge his decision-making, she spun towards the north. There, the Sandman was talking to a seated Spider-man. Suddenly a fist appeared to thrust out from the Sandman's chest. Horrified and confused, the Unicorn took off to rescue the red-and-blue hero.

With his attention directed to Frederick, Giant-man hadn't noticed that the Unicorn had stopped midpoint between Spider-man and her mentor. The conflicted young genius turned her face back towards the Avenger. Rescuing Spider-man was her aim, but it left Giant-man alone facing three dangerous mutants. How could he foolishly think that they posed no threat? If it would come down to following his command or saving him from an attack, she knew what she was going to do.

"Again, my apologize for losing my head," Giant-man said appreciating the irony that it was really the Blob who almost lost his.

Now having a clearer head, the Avenger rose to his feet and stretched out a supporting hand to raise the seated juggernaut.

"So what do you say Mr. Dukes? You still think I've imprisoned those girls?"

Fred looked at the gloved hand. Saying nothing, the Blob spun his massive body as he always had to get himself up to his feet. The man's refusal to take his hand was understandable. Giant-man thought that Frederick needed time to sort out who fought for the right cause.

Hank continued his case. "The girls came out to defend the Unicorn and me. Then they willingly reentered the van that I was pushing away, and they closed the door. It doesn't look to me like they are being forcibly kidnapped. What does it look like to you?"

"Don't listen to him," Quicksilver yelled.

The speedster continued shouting, trying to re-ignite the Blob's rage against the size-changing Homo Sapien. Giant-man raised his voice also. But anger was absent from the Avenger's words.

The towering hero said, "The Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver came here to liberate them from their dreary lives and bring them to a loving environment under Magneto's roof."

As with Wanda before him, Hank was careful not to give the impression that he was lecturing Fred. Hank asked question that allowed the mighty mutant to reach his own conclusion.

"You remember Magneto, don't you Mr. Dukes? Do you think that they would be happier and better off under his care? Were you better off when you allied yourself with him? Was he kind and merciful? Would the girls nominate him for the _Adopting Father of the Year Award_ anytime soon? Would he even allow them a say, one way or the other?

"Maybe you should ask the Scarlet Witch. She can tell you about …."

The white-haired hothead stepped in between them. Shouting and wildly moved his arms, Quicksilver sought to rob the Blob's attention. Of the two shouting voices, Frederick heard Hank's clearer. What he saw in the girls' behavior was evidence enough to dispute Quicksilver's claim as to who was the real rescuer. But the humongous Tsunami of proof that swept him away came when Giant-man included Wanda in his narration— the beauteous woman looked away in shame.

Fred was left with stunned, blinking eyes. Giant-man was telling the truth. And this woman, whom he had dreamed about since he first saw her … she came here after those innocent girls in order to throw them into a crocodile pit.

A breeze passed between them. It tossed the short hair up and away from Fred's forehead, while pushing Wanda's dark locks over what little she allowed Frederick to see of her face.

All of a sudden the Scarlet Witch didn't look that irresistible to him. She looked more like a shining new apple that had worms hiding inside of it. Sure, his heart ached almost enough to bust and his throat was terribly tightened due to profound sorrow, but the truth was also a liberator. At least now he wouldn't spend those quiet lonely nights on his bed staring at the ceiling, wondering what might have been. No, she was no longer worthy of the hoped-for thoughts, the breath-stealing sighs, the deep yearnings. No, … not anymore.

And that brother of hers— his shouting was quickly getting on Frederick's nerve. He wouldn't look at Pietro. He just gritted his teeth wondering how long would it be before he just smacks the teeth out of Pietro's lying mouth.

The sensitive powerhouse moved to the right of Pietro- to look into Giant-man' eyes.

He nodded and said, "Take care of those girls, Big Guy. I'm out of here."

Quicksilver was too busy yelling to hear those words. But when the Blob began walking away, the speedster knew he had lost both the debate and a crucial ally.

The young, angry mutant reached for the Blob's arm.

"NO! NO! You can't believe his lies," Pietro screamed.

The mighty man snatched his arm away from the shouter and continued on his way.

"You lost, Quicksilver," Giant-man said calmly. The large hero looked back at the distraught Scarlet Witch and added, "You don't even have your sister on your side now."

He looked back to the green-clad speedster and added, "Why don't you just go back home to your Merry Magneto Paradise Camp, and save yourself more grief?

"Now, if you abandon all your crazy schemes and talk, you can follow me to the Avenger's Mansion. We can take you in. There will be no pressure, no spying on your conversations, and we'll try as much as possible to make you feel like a valued guest. In time, if we can come to a mutually agreement, I'm confident that we can open two places in the roster—"

Giant-man stopped. It was evident that Quicksilver wasn't listening. He followed the volatile, white-maimed man's stare back to the van. Out of sheer reflex, in less than a second, Giant-man shot up to seventy feet and dove in front of the side door with his arms stretched over his head.

While Giant-man was still falling, Quicksilver disappeared from the spot where he was standing. As Giant-man hit the ground, Pietro reappeared, tripping over one enlarged arm. The mutant continued tumbling along the ground on the other side of Giant-man's appendage. A second later, Hank felt the dull tap that resulted from running legs hitting his forearm. The Avenger guessed correctly. The speedy scum was going to try a last-minute abduction.

"Pietro, STOP IT!" Wanda yelled. That was enough for the Blob to turn around to see what had occurred.

Giant-man inwardly acknowledged that he was lucky this time. But could he guess right, again? Most likely not; and the faster-than-fast mutant would never give him time to re-adjustment any defensive moves.

Giant-man saw the Blob approaching from the corner of his eyes. But even if the mighty man had decided to join the giant hero, Quicksilver would run rings around both of them.

He again summoned the wasps and ants via his cybernetic call. In addition to the response from his nearby battalions, there was an unexpected answer. The reading came back to Hank's circuitry— a new air force of yellow jackets was on their way.

And as if things couldn't look more promising, here came the Unicorn with Spider-man.

* * *

Blocks away, Sandman's butt-attack had sent the voiceless stranger surfing along the street. But he jumped up to his feet quickly. This creature in front of him had increased in size and width and appeared to be a 30-foot high wave of sand. The powerful man took the front half of a destroyed FBI vehicle and threw it at the coming attacker.

The car–half was swallowed into the grainy tidal wave. The stranger reached for an intact police cruiser. He attempted to lift it over his head and prepared another throw. As the vehicle was raised up, a man-sized axe of stone violently came down, barely missing the stranger. After an explosion of sound, the stranger found the one body of the auto had become two. And the two ends of the car fell onto his head and shoulders.

The strong man shrugged off the heavy pounding. But before the powerhouse could offer another attack, a flat concrete slab swung around from his left and made contact with great force. The stranger was again shot across the air by the Sandman.

* * *

Marko was enraged and this _f - - king two-bit, Johnny-come-lately, son of a bitch_ was going to see how disastrous it was to cross the Sandman.

The Sandman's body shortened from 30 to 18 feet. But his arms lengthened and thickened still more. His previously used axe hand—the left hand— also grew in size. Still flattened, it slid under one vehicle that was on its side and flipped it onto the top of a second, upside down car. The hand then slipped under the bottom car. His free arm stretched out to form a twenty-foot ramp where his hand and forearm anchored themselves to the ground. He looked like he was a giant bird with extended wings, but the Sandman was actually shaping himself into a catapult.

Marko sneered, "Remember what I said about yer momma needin' a spatula?"

Without another word, the left arm lifted the two cars off the ground. That same catapult-arm lengthened still again as the cars swung directly over the Sandman's head. Then like a humongous fly swatter, Marko slammed the two cars right down on his prone adversary. The sound was easily as ear-punishing as the crash that involved the Unicorn and the Blob. …. Or perhaps louder.

Fenders, wheels, and vehicle fluids flew in every direction, but the bulk of the weight bounced straight up and then descended back down on the stoic strongman.

Marko returned to his human form and looked at the small mountain of metal that seemed like a mausoleum over the silent enemy.

Yes, he wanted to get back to Spider-man .… but, truthfully, he was feeling the tugs of disappointment. Was that all there was to the haughty bastard? Marko hadn't even been brought to labored breathing. Damn it. The wall-crawler better offer him a better contest.

* * *

Crouching behind two abandon cars, the six mobsters had their guns drawn. They did nothing other than release unconscious _ooos _and _ahhhs_. The Sandman was absolutely awesome.

One man was less swayed by the spectacle and more worried about the consequences if things went uncorrected. This thinning, redheaded hit-leader was told by a look-out that Spider-man was the one pinning down the Thinker's boy. But this was the f - - king Sandman— the mother f - - ker who can't be stopped by bullets.

Days ago, the Thinker told the boss about the escape plan. His big guy was the one who could arm the bombs that were placed in areas around the city. That shirtless muscle-guy needed help to escape this place and get to work activating the blows. And the boss won't like hearing that 6 of his best guns were hiding behind cars doing nothing.

The mob lieutenant swallowed hard. What could be done? Shooting at the Sandman would only cause him and his group to be served with the same medicine that the Thinker's boy was getting. And none of these mugs were super-powered strong.

"Ep. Ep." The mobster next to him whispered. The leader didn't answer. He was peeking over the hood looking for something, _anything_, that he could spot on the Sandman that appeared solid enough to receive a bullet.

"Ep," the frightened hoodlum continued. "I thought that this Sandman-guy was on our side. Matter of fact, the guy isn't supposed to be here. He ought to be at the courthouse waiting for the Thinker's signal."

Another gunman who was hiding behind a nearby car thought that he could educate the dumb bastard. "Look, no madda how powe'ful he's become, Marko is still a penny-ante street crook. Small-timers like him ain't got no class o-ah sense-a responsibil'ties. His type not only will be da foist ta rat ta da cops when da heat's on, but when he's on da job, he can't be relied on ta be in da ro-ight spot an' do da ro-ight thing, see?

"Now we's,… we's da pros. We knows about loy'ty an' doin' da ro-ight thing, ya see? If we's have ta cut off some digits on a guy's hand who welches on a bet, be a-sho-ah dat guy won't be playin' da piano eva again. If we's got us a hit, dat guy neva has ta worry about geddin' up too late fo-ah woik ag-in, ya see?

"Nope. Marko's kind neva has da discipline an' decency ta do da ro-ight thing like us, see?"

"Shut yer traps, both a yas." Ep, the leader spat out. Jerry Epstein couldn't afford to be distracted by gibberish.

"Keep da rods ready an' wait 'til I tells ya when an' where's ta shoot."

* * *

The Unicorn had hoisted Spider-man up from the battle scene at the other end of the isolated area. Yolanda had explained that the end of the two-front battle required Spider-man's cooperation. She had not realized that her words about obtaining information from Spider-man so that she could _wrap this up,_ came across to the hero as arrogant. He assumed that she thought that he was only good enough for show-and-tell, while she was the exclusive problem-solver.

The offended Mr. Parker's anger towards the Unicorn suddenly widened to include her partner. He had originally come here to aid her Paul Bunyan boyfriend. And where was he when Peter was duking it out with Mighty Mutt?

Damn it, after this is all over, if he saw that Giant Waste, he'd kick his a – s. As a matter of fact, Peter was so steamed that he might stop in the middle of this fight and … Naw, he might need the big jerk.

Original intent and misinterpretation aside, they were within yards of the scene where Giant-man was sprawled out on the ground and Quicksilver was taking his final head-over-heels tumble on the ground.

Giant-man looked up at her with a smile, so evidently the other three mutants hadn't attacked him. GOOD THING FOR THEM, Tolanda mused.

Spider-man interpreted the scene differently. To him the Blob and two other people having had challenged Giant-man were now reconsidering the consequence of that. Spider-man excused the absence of a helping hand if the big bump-on-a-log had his own problems. LUCKY FOR HIM, Peter thought.

Spider-man was still in the Unicorn's arms when, suddenly he pointed away and shouted, "Look out."

Every head— save for the one belonging to the dazed speedster— turned towards the top of a two story abandoned building. Five sets of eyes saw one thing—a threat. Of the five, Spider-man and the Unicorn, also saw a second thing—INCOMING!

Giant-man, though, saw three things.

* * *

Hawkeye didn't know who the gorgeous chick and the green-attired clown on the ground were. He only knew that of the four figures who he recognized, two could reach him quickly after he assassinated Giant-man. Spider-man could gain a lot of ground quickly by swinging on his webs. The metal bitch could fly as fast as Iron Man. Naturally, he had to put them out of action first.

Two arrows that carried the steel, rapid-coiling bands were stretched on his bow. Hawkeye then launched them.

Damn it. His f- - -king spider-sense alerted the piece-of-sh –t. Spider-man pointed, everyone turned, and his secret perch was discovered.

* * *

Writer's Note: Duval meets Dillon

a) When you come to Duval's exclamation, _Ek-rrrwa-ya-blay, _please remember that the word appears here as it would sound to an English speaker. _Incroyable_ is the proper spelling and _Incredible_ (or unbelievable) is the English translation. "Gargoyle" is written gargouille (in French) and it is pronounced as it is later written when he reveals his name to Max Dillon. He says "grey" instead of "gris" because he is trying to communicate to an American. In his excitement, he will occasionally slip back to his mother tongue.

b) In many words, the author heard French speakers sound out an "R" in a specific manner. To hear it, the reader should attempt to imitate a gargling noise (without mouthwash) for a second. One internet French teacher adds: say "kay" while doing it. But the author's ears could not pick up _krray_ from his French acquaintances.

This sound will be represented in Paul Duval's attempt to speak English when 3 r's (rrr) come together in a word.

* * *

To say that Max Dillon was less honorable than Flint Marko would've been an understatement. The man whom the public trembling referred to as _Electro_ purposely gave Spider-man the impression that he had previously hurled a bolt at Spider-man only as a calling card. Electro also claimed that he was leaving the battle scene without engaging in any of the turbulence. He even used electronic magnetism to make his exit.

In reality, when Dillon rose up to the Triborough Bridge, he hid behind one of the girders that supported the bridge's roadway. He was waiting for the right moment to strike. That right moment was the cowardly moment— it would be when the unidentified strong man and the Sandman pushed the red-and-blue hero to the point of exhaustion. Electro would then deliver the knock out—or rather the barbeque—punch. Now, If the other two fighters would also get roasted,… well, it wasn't something that Dillon would lose sleep over.

At first, Electro thought that he should have struck when Spider-man was on his hands and knees. But on second thought, Dillon saw no real evidence that Spider-man was fully out-of-it.

And then, a few seconds ago, a female version of Iron Man whisked Spider-man away. She was taking him to a distance where Dillon knew that he could only rely on luck to hit Spider-sh – t. Even if he took careful aim, his electric bolts tended to deviate from their targets if they traveled beyond a block and a half.

Dillon looked down at the two idiots. Sand-man and that brute should have joined forces, but look at them now fighting each other. Their stupidity allowed Spider-man to escape.

He sighed, imagining that he needed to go after his foe by himself. He could put the shapely blue-and-gold chick out of action with a charge strong enough to light up several city blocks. But if Spider-man was given a rest period, Dillon needed a third party more than ever. That pain-in-the-balls was so fast. The electricity-hurler was reminded of that when Spider-man dodged Electro's first bolt. Electro's success depended upon the wall-crawler being distracted.

Hmmm ... That all-grey lug who was wrapped in a car… That metal bitch had brought him up to the top of the bridge. The car fell into the river afterwards, and she flew down. Now, why did she come down without him? He had to be dangerous, right? Yeah, the guy may be someone Dillon could use to draw Spider-man's attention.

Dillon stretched his hands forward and they crackled. This new form of transportation had the disadvantage of giving his position away to a keen ear. He would have to learn to fix that. Electro jumped, but his body fell no further than six feet. His electric-magnetic attraction to the expanse's metal allowed him to move along the underbelly of the bridge and then follow the steel support cables up to the bridge's tower. Electro's head finally cleared the top of the tower and he stopped ascending.

There he was— the stone man. The guy looked to Max Dillon like a kid with a weak bladder desperately looking around for a toilet.

"And who might you be?" the electric-master asked.

Now being closer, Dillon thought that the man's get-up was great. He actually looked like a statue. Unfortunately, he spoke like one, too.

"What's the matter, bub? Cat got your tongue? Don't worry, he'll return it once he discovers he can't chew stone."

Dillon was just going along with the gag, or rather what he thought was the man's outfit. He didn't know who he was addressing until….

"I am ze Grrey Garrr-ghoul-ee, you idi-ought."

Dillon figured out from the guy's accent that he had to be a prissy Parisian, and he used that assumption in his response.

"Now, now," Dillon said. "Let's not get nasty. We can be pals, or I can be the cook and you the _French_ fries. Your choice."

With crossed arms, the rest of the American villain's body rose up over the tower's edge. He then stepped onto the platform of the tower.

_"Ek-rrrwa-ya-blay,"_ Duval said with wide eyes. "You cohn make ze flight?"

_"Make ze flight?_" Dillon taunted. "Not really," he continued with the right side of his face wearing a smile. Now that he had the guy's respect, he would forget the insult that the Gargoyle had previously launched.

"Rrre-al-lee ohr, not, you cohn get me down fah-rom he-air."

"Who, me? Maybe." The two studied each other and then Dillon spoke. "I heard of you when I was in the slammer. You got this whole Medusa thing going for you."

"_Medusa?! _ I am no myth. I cohn turn anyone to stone. But mo-air, I cohn leeft a trrruck weeth one 'and." _Now take me down!"_

"Hold on, there. Even you Frenchies must have heard about that hand-washing-hand thing, right? If I get you down, I need you to do me a favor."

"An-no-szar time. I need to get to ze Williams-b'eg Brrridge, whe-ah-ev-air szat eez."

"And why is that?"

"Szor is sz-air. I wasz szneaking up to Giant-man and I 'id behind a poliz cahr. Ze cahr radio said he wasz – "

Duval stopped. Why was he talking to this American simpleton? None of them had the sophistication of a Frenchman. In addition, why was this sparkly-eyed fool only talking and not actually taking him down to the ground. He must've been a cheap magician who played an even cheaper parlor trick in order to appear to levitate. Duval could slap his head right off his shoulders or just turn him into stone. Still, if he could take Duval down safely… The Grey Gargoyle decided to issue him a challenge.

"Ah, why bo-szair talking to you. You 'ave no power and cohn do no-szing fo-air me."

Electro wasn't taking the bait. He had been doing his own thinking. It was going to be hard to use this _numb-nuts_ as a decoy, if he was intending to fly the coop the minute his feet touched the ground.

Dillon released an exacerbated sigh. He would have to wait for the Sandman and the other palooka to take a breather from their fighting. All Dillon needed was two seconds to get their attention. Then hopefully he'd convince them to tire out Spider-man, as he had originally planned.

Behind him, Electro heard the sound of an approaching helicopter. It had to be the news crew that he had seen coming down. He used to fly Majors and Generals in those 4-seat, Bell 47-J copters when he was in the service. Electro was determined to give them a shock; nothing fatal, of course. He would only shake the news crew up. Why kill them if they were going to broadcast his handsome face— as he believed— to the world?

Dillon made an about-face, but surprise stilled his attack. The chopper didn't belong to the news hounds. It was smaller— a two-passenger, with a glass dome surrounding the cabin, and the rear of the body was exposed metal frame. From the aircraft, the passenger stuck his head out from the side. He raised a megaphone to his mouth.

Ignoring Electro, the man had a quick message for the ill-tempered stone-man. A jet plane was coming from the north. It would lower a net on a long cord. It will pass low enough so that the Gargoyle could grab it and escape.

The chopper abruptly turned away. Then, speak-of-the-Devil, Dillon spotted the plane and the snagging equipment. The net looked like it had a gigantic tube around it. Dillon laughed, thinking that the Gargoyle's rescuers were going to dunk the guy in the water when they arrive at whatever destination they were taking him. What was awaiting him was far less dignified than the method Dillon had planned to get him down … But hey, the uncooperative jerk brought it upon himself.

Dillon returned to his previous spot, with only his head peering over the top of the bridge tower. This had too much promise of fun for him to miss.

* * *

Frederick Dukes heard the Spider-man's warning from overhead. Instinctively, he rushed towards the Scarlet Witch. He protectively stood with his back towards her. He kept his eyes on the arrow-slinger on the two-story roof as he addressed Giant-man.

"Hey, Big-Guy, go get 'em. I'll protect Wanda so you won't get distracted."

But Wanda Maximoff tried to run around him to get to her fallen brother. He pulled her back. She banged on his chest and angrily demanded that he release her.

It profoundly hurt Fred to see the beautiful woman fighting him when he only wanted to shield her. Surely he would eventually lose all feelings for her, but that was going to take months, not minutes.

"On second thought, you protect her and I'll go after the scum."

With Wanda's finger tips barely seen above his closed, large right hand, Fred turned to his right— to Giant-man. …. But he was no longer there.

* * *

After he had simultaneously shot the two arrows, Hawkeye had no interest in witnessing the entrapment of Spider-man and the mystery woman in the steel coils. Hawkeye pulled on the bow string that now had the acid arrow. He targeted Giant-man's easy-to-see throat.

Suddenly, the vibrating noise, the obstructed vision, the painful pricks on the hand that held the bow steady, all came at once.

_WASPS!_ F - - king, G – d Damn wasps. They were all over him.

* * *

A second ago, more than a hundred feet away, two arrows were nearing their targets. The Unicorn flipped her wrist to fling her cargo, Spider-man, away from her.

"Hey," Peter smart-mouthed in mid-air, "Going wrap this up, too?"

The two oncoming arrows had already opened their heads and silvery long bands stretched out like the tentacles of two hungry giant squids. They must have carried miniature tacking systems because one set of metal coils continued forwards towards the mighty maiden and the second set veered left and downward, following the amazing adventurer.

Moving faster than the human eye could follow, Spider-man flipped backwards. His "C" shaped body dodged two sets of bands that charged forward and barely missed his butt. The two metal straps that were below those two bands, reached up to capture the hero's knees. But Spider-man, with miraculous speed, brought them to his chest. These second pair of bands wrapped themselves around air alone.

The last coil was launched slower and it waited underneath him as gravity eventually pulled on the heroic figure. Instantly, Spider-man stretched his hands towards the metal band. It surged forward like a trout towards a fishing hook. Spider-man's torso was going earthward, his hands went skyward. Just as the steel ribbon was about to snare it's prize, Spider-man pulled his hands to his himself. This last band swooshed in the air. It tried to correct itself by curling around and reaching for his body. The other four bands made an attempt to also ensnare him from below and behind him. But at that time, the arrow stem had already passed the incredible teenager.

Spider-man shot a web-line towards a street lamp. He mightily pulled on it to stop his fall and spring him forward. While heading towards the lamp, he turned around. Spider-man saw the steel tentacles flapping while they descended helplessly. They almost appeared to have been waving goodbye. "And good ridden," Peter muttered.

* * *

If Peter had but two seconds, it was still enough time for the incredible speed and reflexes of Spider-man to rescue him. Unfortunately, two seconds were all it took to enslave the less-experienced and slower-responding Unicorn. She stayed motionless figuring out why that costumed clown thought that this stupid arrow would stop her.

The arrow stem extended from her chest quivering in apparent triumphant glee over hitting its target. All five bands held tightly around her. They began to hum.

_Oh, really?_ She thought. She wasn't afraid for her safety. The ultra-intelligent young woman knew that her invention was more than adequate to insulate her body from harm. But she was ticked-off, as the American slogan went. The bands that covered her torso responded to a captive's movement with vertical moves of their own. The thin metal that wrapped around the Unicorn slid up and down quickly, about a half an inch.

"You hear me?" Henry asked over her head set.

"Yes, and I'm fine,' she answered.

Turning her attention back to the arrow, it was designed, of course, to rip the flesh of a stubborn, escape-driven captive until the poor soul would die of the squeezing pressure and the loss of blood. Her repulsed mind spat out the word, "_Barbaric."_

Still, the coils' creator had not reckoned with the daughter of Anton Vanko. Her left arm was pinned against her chest. That was the arm that stretched out to effortlessly snap four steel straps. The last band was ripped off by her other hand.

She held the arrow stem in her left hand. The coils attached to the arrow dropped like cooked spaghetti.

_Okay_, she thought, _the guidance systems must have been at the head_ _of the straps._ What she held was harmless—correction, what she _dropped_ to the street was harmless… Which was a description that the archer would soon find out could never apply to the Unicorn.

She raised her eyes to see a swirling dust clou— _no_. That had to be insects around the masked bowman on the roof. Her attacker was spinning and swatting away in a panic. Henry proved to be on top of his game again. _What a man._

Below her central line of vision, the Unicorn saw Spider-man using his webs to swing towards the assailant.

_Oh, no he won't._ The angered heroine wasn't going to let Spider-man punch out the jackass that her fists were dying to meet.

* * *

All was ready. The twenty-four-foot tall robot sprang out of hiding. Zhi Ming Xu directed its running feet towards the accursed American Capitalists Dogs. His thumbs were hovering over the buttons at the ends of the half steering wheel—or as commonly called by American pilots, the _yoke_. Those buttons would release a hail of metal-penetrating bullets on his hapless victims.

Only one corner was left to turn and then ….

* * *

Reference:

The chapter's _looong_ title comes from the opening line of Kipling's poem entitled, _If_.

It well suited Henry Pym and his surroundings. He had to keep it together even when devilish imageries took him by surprise. And the main characters who have had contact with Giant-man blame the Avenger for their outrage.

Spider-man's frustration over his inability to finish off this foe and his impression that he was looked down upon by the Unicorn led to thoughts that Giant-man had abandoned him. Hawkeye saw the large Avenger as a coward. Because of that, if Clint Barton couldn't extract extra amorous attention from Natasha Romanov, the fault belonged to Giant- Chicken-heart.

Still under the influence of marijuana, the young scientist, Xu, saw Giant-man as extremely disrespectful for resisting the obviously superior communist's generous plan to capture him alive.

The Blob had angrily accused Giant-man of kidnapping, thanks to Quicksilver. Quicksilver was assured that the size-changer was a villainous outsider mainly because he prevented the speedster from taking the two teenage girls. Wanda was an uncommitted sympathizer— she also hated Giant-man for turning her against her brother.

Yolanda got ticked-off at Hank for ordering her to do what she thought was irresponsible. But heck, in the heat of battle, hadn't Yolanda got ticked at everyone, at one time or the other?


End file.
